


I Walked With You (Once Upon a Dream)

by The_Dwelf



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Durin Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashback, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Many of which are porn flashbacks, Protective Thranduil, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dwelf/pseuds/The_Dwelf
Summary: Kori is just a regular Dwarf, except, he isn't. He is Gimli's reicarnation, he has been dreaming of his past life since he was a child, and now that he's old enough to leave Erebor, he's certain of his condition. With unexpected help from a very shocked Elvenking, he will find a way to rejoin Legolas, at any costs. Angst, fluff, porn and (spoiler?) a happy ending.From the text:---His dreams were as detailed and realistic as cherished memories, to the point that, after decades, it all felt like a second life to him.---“A young fool, you are. Too many tales, too many songs, and that’s what a young mind gets tricked into. [...] And the Lord of Aglarond probably married the Elf-Prince for politics, or perhaps the Prince wanted some plaything and bewitched the son of Glóin. Either case, it was nothing like love.”“Grandpa! Their love was true, you know not of what you speak.”---“Nay, King Thranduil, we have naught to do with Durin’s line. I apologize, my grandson knows not how to behave in court.”'He seems to have a better grasp of the matter than you', thought Thranduil behind the slight nod of his head and a shadow of his diplomatic smile on the lips.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 114
Kudos: 259





	1. Once Upon a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Characters, canonical events and places are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. 
> 
> This is my first attempt at a long-fic in English. As usual, I'm not a native speaker, so if you notice anything wrong with syntax, grammar, or use of the Language in general, please, please let me know. 
> 
> Chapters two and three are almost ready, I will post them within a few days, after further proofreading. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I have been waiting to post this for a while now and I must admit I'm a little nervous. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Legolas was magnificent._

_Hands tightly holding onto the headboard of the large bed, he could not help but bend over every now and then to either kiss or gently bite the stout body he was riding._

_The dwarf, for his part, was helplessly lost in awe. His eyes were fixated on the Elf above him, at the dishevelled hair falling on his face, at the muscles that twitched with every thrust, at the alabaster skin now shiny with sweat, at the lips that stirred in the most blissful of smiles as the hand roughened by years of axe-wielding and crafting and forging closed around his shaft, stroking gently, spreading the white bead on the tip all the way down._

_“Ai, Gimli, meleth.”_

_Whispered the Elf, and the Dwarf set a faster pace to his hand, while gripping a bit harder with his other hand at Legolas’ hip._

_“You are a wonder, lad, oh, ooh, I tell you.”_

_The words seemed to escape him without him having any control at them._

_As usual._

_“Am I?”_

_Asked the Elf, looking at him with a playful glint in his eyes. He left the headboard and steadied himself by holding onto the Dwarf’s shoulders. Despite the fact that -given their difference in height- the previous position was more comfortable, this one provided more intimacy, not to mention the delightful, soft sting that Legolas’ nails sinking in the skin would give his companion as soon as the Elf would spill his pleasure. The Dwarf shivered at the thought._

_“Care to tell me why, Gimli-nin, meleth-nin, why am I a wonder?”_

_Legolas continued, his voice only slightly faltering as he struggled to focus on the words despite his whole body being on fire._

_“Aye, beloved. You should see yourself; you should see how you look when you ride me like this, ah!”_

_He was breathing hard, thrusting in accordance to Legolas’ movements._

_“But you can’t, and I shall describe it for you. See your eyes, your beautiful eyes, they’re liquid with pleasure right now. Your lips are full and red from kissing, and the more they look so, the more inviting they look to me to close my mouth on them again. An endless circle, it is.”_

_He paused as Legolas let out a chuckle, then bit his lip -the tease!- as he slowed the rhythm, careful to slide down to the full length of the Dwarf’s cock._

_“What- what else?”_

_“Vain creature.”_

_Accused the Dwarf, though he knew that it was nothing like vanity._

_“Your hair is a wonderful mess, they dance as you move, they fall down on your face, and stick to it, and Legolas, oh Legolas, if you could see you face. Flushed, beaded with sweat, twisting in pleasure every time I hit the right spot inside you, I could look at such sight and naught else for a lifetime and be content.”_

_“O meleth-nin, Gimli, maer!_ _Avo daro, iesten!”_

_“Your skin, my love, your skin is pure moonshine. Pale a beautiful pale, it glows at the very touch of my fingertips, and I dare not stop touching you for fear that such a light should turn dim. You have the arms of an archer, muscles that can stay tense for hours without a single moment of faltering. Your legs, gripping at my body, are those of a rider, and see, you are giving proof of your mastery in riding right this moment. Your entire body dances when you ride me, a dance that is only for my eyes to see, and only for myself to join.”_

_“Gimli, ah, gi melin!”_

_Shouted Legolas, and a moment later his nails were deep in the broad shoulders as he spent over the Dwarf’s hand and stomach._

_“Aulë be blessed, Gimli, never will I thank him enough for this child of his.”_

_The Elf muttered softly as his companion held him through his aftershock, then he laid on the bed, on his back, arms -and legs- open in a clear invitation, to which the Dwarf promptly complied. He sank inside his lover, who whispered bits of Sindarin again, and felt the orgasm building with every thrust, and he lost fluency in Westron in turn as he switched to Khuzdul, as Legolas held him tight, fingers entangled in his hair, his beard, and he was so close, so close, and then – a bang on the door, and then again, and a third time, too._

“Kori, Mahal as my witness, if you don’t get up this very moment, we will leave without you!”

The young dwarf was now staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. It took him a fair bunch of seconds to elaborate his grandfather’s words, but as soon as he did, he jumped off the bed.

“I’m coming!”

He shouted back, and given the situation between his legs, his claim was true on at least two levels of interpretation. He muttered a couple of courses in the secret language of his kin as he jerked off as swiftly as he could. Bittersweet it was, the difference between dream and reality, but he had no time to indulge in dreams, not that day. He cleaned himself up and wore his all new travelling garments, a smile widening on his face.

Travelling. _At last._

He walked out the door, rushing downstairs like he used to when he was a little Dwarfling hungry for breakfast. Now he was hungry for more, much more. Knowledge, answers, he was prepared to fill his eyes with every sight that could be found on Arda, and yet for the moment Eryn Lasgalen and its inhabitants had to be enough.

“There you are, lad. Eat something, the journey is rather long, and you will need your strength.”

“Aye, grandpa.”

Kori smiled broadly at his grandfather before walking into the kitchen and assaulting a good crust of bread and a chunk of cheese. He was too young and too Dwarven to allow excitement to soften his appetite, and when Turi -that was the name of the older Dwarf- joined him in the room, he poured one mug of mead and handed it to his grandson.

“You are and adult, break your fast as one.”

An adult, yes, he was. He had come of age that very year, which meant for him a greater deal than it did for many of his kin.

“You know, lad, so excited you were of accompanying us to Eryn Lasgalen that I believed you would barely sleep.”

“I have never been away from Erebor my entire life, hence my excitement.”

Considered Kori after he swallowed down his cheese, then he set himself to drink the mead.

“And yet you overslept. Were you having one of your dreams again, perhaps?”

The poor younger Dwarf nearly chocked on his drink at that, a flash of Legolas’ squirming body passing through his mind.

“I believed you never wanted to hear, nor talk, about those dreams of mine anymore?”

Said Kori tentatively as soon as he recovered. Not that he had shared with his grandad words about indecent dreams like the one he had that morning, but they weren’t always like that. Slices of life, every single night for the last thirty years.

“Indeed, I don’t. I especially expect you to not mention a single word about that when we’re in Eryn Lasgalen. Have I made myself clear?”

“Aye, grandpa.”

Kori finished his mead in silence, half-listening to his grandfather’s complaints on foolish dreams and the silliness of youngsters. He had gotten tired of arguing on the matter long before. His grandfather would never understand, nor would any other in Erebor indeed, and to be fair, how could they? His dreams were as detailed and realistic as cherished memories, to the point that, after decades, it all felt like a second life to him. He had dreamt that he was a child in Ered Luin, and he still remembered the worry in his mother’s eyes as she struggled to gather something for dinner on the table. He could never forget the fight with Glóin, the prohibition to join him and the rest of Thorin’s company to reclaim Erebor from the foul claws of the fearsome Smaug, the warmth of their embrace when they met again under the Lonely Mountain. Mahal forgive him, he missed Glóin and Lím more than his own parents, whom he could not remember.

When all that had begun, he hadn’t paid it much attention. He was a young Dwarf, a child still, dreaming that he was the greatest Dwarven hero of their Age. Which child had never dreamt of adventure, which kid had never imagined himself as one of the Company of the Ring? Youth never got tired of hearing the tales of the hobbit Bilbo, and the quest for Erebor, and then young Frodo and his friends, the Council of Elrond, the Company, the Quest. Tales of battle and friendship and love and war, days that some mortals were still alive to remember and that the Elves would never forget. It was no strange thing that a kid had such dreams, indeed.

Things got a peculiar turn as time passed on. He would have those dreams each night, and they would always be as realistic as memory, always full of detail, always coherent, and when he heard Gimli’s true name, the one that Mahal gave to each newborn Dwarf, the one that only said Dwarf, his parents, and possibly their espouse would ever know, when he heard it in his dreams his mind made up no name, but gave Gimli a name exactly alike Kori’s. To hear one’s true name given to another Dwarf, it was something he could not imagine, and he knew not how his mind dared do such thing.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Aye, Grandpa. Of course.”

He did not need to listen. He had heard the same reprimands over and over again since the day he had decided to speak of his dreams with his grandfather.

_“A young fool, you are. Too many tales, too many songs, and that’s what a young mind gets tricked into.”_

_“I fail to see how this could be an explanation. Those are too vivid to be dreams, I cannot possibly imagine so much and so well. What if it’s some sort of visions? Perhaps I can see things of the past. You know, the Lady Galadriel can see things that were-”_

_“That’s it. Elves! They have their magic, their witchcraft, and what good have they done with it?”_

_“Grandpa, our kin have been at peace with the Elves since the War of the Ring. Erebor and Mirkwood fought alongside, the Fellowship stood as symbol of friendship among the Free Folk.”_

_“I don’t need to hear the little history lessons they give you at school. I was there, my father fought that very war, and let me tell you, this whole thing of being friends with the Elves is just hypocrisy.”_

_“You believe so, and yet you lead the caravan in charge for trade with Eryn Lasgalen?”_

_“See, that’s different. Fighting in time of wars, we can do together. Trading goods for the welfare of both our people, that as well. But trust, friendship, that’s gibberish.”_

_“Gimli of Aglarond was named Elvellon, and he married an Elf.”_

_“The members of the Company are overestimated. They had good fortune on their side, that’s all.”_

_“Grandpa.”_

_“And the Lord of Aglarond probably married the Elf-Prince for politics, or perhaps the Prince wanted some plaything and bewitched the son of Glóin. Either case, it was nothing like love.”_

_“Grandpa! Their love was true, you know not of what you speak.”_

_“And you do? Do not mistake stupid dreams for reality, boy. You have no visions, just a too vivid imagination and a fascination for tales. You’ll have to take up the activity someday, and you will never be ready for that if you stick to such nonsense.”_

“Very well, if you are ready, we should go. Perhaps when you see Eryn Lasgalen and realize that it is nothing like you’ve imagined, you will finally be convinced that your dreams are naught but childish drivel.”

Kori snapped out of his memories and got up. His grandfather had just mentioned the exact reason of his great excitement for this travel. He would soon witness the halls of King Thranduil, probably the King himself, and there could be only two outcomes: either it would differ from what he expected, meaning he had been imagining things his whole life, or it would correspond. And if it did, well, it would have to mean something. He would only need to figure out what.

“Perhaps it will be so. Let us go then.”

Said Kori, following his mother’s Adad outside and towards the loaded wagons.

\---

It would take them two days to reach their destination. By ponyback, it was possible to reach Eryn Lasgalen by nightfall if one set off from Erebor at dawn, but the caravan was an entirely different thing. As their first day of travel neared the end, however, they had already entered the wood.

“At this rate, we will be there ere sunset, tomorrow. Hopefully we will handle paperwork before night.”

Said Turi, visibly satisfied, as they started to set the camp for the night.

“Does it make much difference?”

“A lot, Kori. If all that remains to do is unload and reload, we can finish within the next morning and leave ere lunchtime, while if we have paperwork to sort out we will not be done until mid-afternoon, and at that point we will have to stay the night.”

The young Dwarf frowned while he tested his tent’s ropes with some gentle tugs.

“Isn’t it better to spend two nights in the Halls of the King and only one in the woods as we head back, than the opposite?”

He asked, failing to see the point of leaving late in the morning instead of waiting for the following day.

“The less we stay, the better, believe me.”

Said Turi, and Kori shrugged. He would pay no mind to his grandfather’s rambling. He was far more interested in the forest that surrounded them. It did look familiar, which made his hearth race, but he tried to remain realistic: trees were trees. Sure, in his dreams, Eryn Lasgalen, Lothlorien, Ithilien and Fangorn were as different as can be from one another, but those were dreams. And besides, perhaps he was simply conditioned by his hope to find a match.

Well, he would find out soon. He decided to enjoy dinner and some rest, for the moment. Just one more day.

\---

Every pillar.

Every wall.

Every corridor.

He knew them with stunning precision and, as he followed in shocked silence his grandfather and the two Elven guards that were escorting them to the throne room, he kept recognizing the place at every turn. The guards led them in after they were announced, and Kori took in the magnificently decorated stone that, again, he knew perfectly already.

Then he looked in front of him, and his mouth went dry. Not many feet from him stood a tall Elf. Clad in silver ropes and mithril ornaments he stood straight, hands behind his back, icy blue eyes fixated on- on him. He was looking at Kori, and as soon as the Dwarf realized, he returned the look, and their gazes were locked for several moments.

He had no doubt, that was the King, and Kori would have known even if the Elf had not been wearing that ridiculous crown of his, for he had seen him already. That face cold as stone, the eyes, Mahal forgive him, he remembered even his eyebrows.

His- no, Gimli’s father-in-marriage, technically speaking.

The Elvenking.

Thranduil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Again, English is not my first Language, so let me know if you notice something odd. And again, let me know what you think of this chapter, I am so very curious to know!
> 
> Sindarin bits are from https://realelvish.net/phrasebooks/sindarin/woodelf/
> 
> Meleth: lover  
> Meleth-nin: my love  
> Maer: more  
> Avo daro: don't stop.  
> Iesten: please (my wish).  
> Gi melin: I love you.


	2. The Gleam in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is determined to find out why on Arda is the Young Dwarf so stunningly similar to Gimli both in looks and attitude.

_“I will set sail ere the end of this year.”_

_Thranduil raised an eyebrow, silently staring at his son while he considered the piece of information received, then turned to look at Gimli, who stood next to him as ever. His beard and hair were turning white, his skin showed spots and wrinkles. None of that had been there the previous year. The sudden and swift dwarven aging had just begun and would soon bring to the unavoidable end of any mortal life. He looked back at Legolas, unchanged in its looks as Elves are, and found that his body showed marks as well, not of age, but of weariness, longing, sorrow._

_“I believed you would wait some more years. Legolas, I marvel that I am the one to tell you this, but you have waited until King Elessar’s dipartite, for you had promised him your help and would not forsake your responsibilities. And yet you will leave now, abandoning your espouse to face his very last years alone? Not that it should be of my concern, but I am indeed surprised.”_

_Legolas quietly shook his head and shared a smile with the Dwarf, who then responded in his stead._

_“Wherever he goes, I go. I shall follow him, King Thranduil. Legolas can no longer bear this side of the sea, nor do we wish to part ere time.”_

_Oh, that was more like Legolas. Not abandoning his husband in his most difficult years, indeed, taking a Dwarf to Valinor, the first -and most likely the only one- of his race._

_“Of course. It was naïve of me to doubt you. Then I assume this is a farewell.”_

_“Will you not come, Adar?”_

_“I will, eventually. I still have much to do on this side of the Sea. Alas, I doubt I will ever see Lord Gimli again. But you wait for me, ion-n_ _î_ _n.”_

\---

The Elvenking was rather willing to meet the Dwarves, that evening, which was a curious event.

Such uncharacteristic will, however, was easily explained: it was one of the last times he would have to attend such meetings. Second-to-last, to be precise. Thus, his good spirits.

What was more, the Dwarves had arrived rather early, which meant that in all likelihood they would leave on the morrow, oh joyful day.

There was nothing left for him to do on Middle Earth _, he thought_.

Not for a single thing he still held any interest on this side of the sea, _he was convinced_.

He wished to sail, to join his son in Valinor, for he knew there he was needed, tough _he believed_ he could offer nothing but comfort to Legolas.

And as old Master Turi walked inside, Thranduil even smiled, knowing that it was nearly the last time they had to see each other. He could barely stand the Dwarf: he knew he had little respect for Elves, and no trust at all, despite the Age of peace among the free Folks they were living in. Yet, he never failed at his job, nor had he ever openly disrespected any dweller of the Forest, and for the purpose of trading that was enough. He put a diplomatic smile on his lips, ready to deal with the Dwarf for the almost-last time.

Then, the unforeseeable.

The King registered a second Dwarf walking in, and vaguely remembered Galion explaining him that Master Turi was going to bring along his grandson and apprentice that season. He deigned himself to look at the young Dwarf, lips already parted for a formal and swift welcome, and he froze. The young Dwarf was clad in dark green, his hair was a slightly reddish brown, just like -of course- his short beard.

But oh, Elbereth Gilthoniel, his face.

The young Dwarf returned his look.

Eru Ilúvatar, his eyes.

They looked at each other in silence for several moments, Thranduil nearly in disbelief.

Aulë, Aulë, what irksome jest of His was that?

But oh, he had to collect himself. He turned back to Turi and exchanged the usual pleasantries, then turned back to glance at the other Dwarf, who was still looking at the Elvenking with wide eyes.

“And who is this young of your kin, that does not speak and is content of staring shamelessly at the King?”

The lad seemed to wake from a daydream at that. He took a step forward, bent low, and spoke clearly, unhesitant.

“I am Kori, grandson of Turi, at your service, o great King. I ask your forgiveness for my bad manners and I blame surprise for my inability to introduce myself properly. So many tales and songs have I heard on the great Elvenking, that you almost looked familiar to me, your Majesty.”

Thranduil knew it was at least a half-truth, if not a lie. Tales of the _great Elvenking_ , in Erebor? Please.

“I would like to ask you what tales and songs you speak of, and yet I shan’t. I fear it would be embarrassing for everyone when it turns out you know none.”

He retorted. He took a couple of steps towards the two, raising a hand to silence Turi, who had opened his mouth to speak. Whether he was going to protest or apologize, the King had no interest in hearing it at the moment.

“I shall not speak of it, if you don’t ask, your Majesty. Still, were you to change your mind and wish to hear, I will be glad to recount.”

Even in courteous talk, the Dwarf was alike to Gimli, and the King failed to see how such a thing came to be. The Lockbearer was a Longbeard, a son of Durin, cousin of Kings. He had been educated in courtesy and diplomacy long before ruling own colony as a Lord in Aglarond. This… Kori had introduced himself as the grandson of Turi, meaning either he was disowned by his parents or he was raised by his grandfather since his earliest childhood. Either ways, it was unlikely that he had any high heritage. Perhaps he had been lectured by Turi, since he was his apprentice, if Galion had been correct. And yet it seemed that the pupil had become the master already, since the old Dwarf had always been of very few words.

“I shall not ask. And yet I find it rather interesting that to you I look familiar, for the same thought occurred to me as I saw you. Say, Kori, have you any relation in blood to the line of Durin, perhaps among the branch of Borin, grandfather of Groin?”

Now, had the Dwarf said “no”, plain and clear, Thranduil would have believed perhaps that it was a mere, stunning coincidence. Perhaps he could have believed that at some point within the 120 years he had known Gimli, a deep and tiny, tiny and deep part of him had grown -Ilúvatar forgive him- fond enough to his son’s companion to vaguely mourn his by now certainly occurred death, just enough to see matching features where there were barely similarities.

But the Dwarf had no time to deny, for his grandfather was swifter, _too swift_ , and sharp, _so very sharp_.

“Nay, King Thranduil, we have naught to do with Durin’s line. I apologize, my grandson knows not how to behave in court.”

_He seems to have a better grasp of the matter than you,_ thought Thranduil behind the slight nod of his head and a shadow of his diplomatic smile on the lips. Kori was clearly nervous under the reprimanding glare of his grandfather, and the King had lived far too long not to guess that there was something they were not telling. Why that bothered him so much, that only the Valar knew.

“I come to understand he is here to learn. Indeed, Ethuilion will be glad to work with the two of you tomorrow.”

Turi frowned, disappointment so evident on his face that Thranduil seriously wondered how he could believe his grandson to be the uncourteous one.

“Tomorrow? Is there no time to begin at once?”

“I am afraid it will take longer than usual. I am sailing at the end of winter, and part of my people will sail with me. Ethuilion will remain in charge, yet the realm will be consistently diminished in population and the trade agreements should be rearranged in accordance.”

“I see.”

Was everything Turi said, but his tone and frown said much, much more. The Elvenking had planned to inform Erebor of his leaving on the last meeting. His decision to buy time did not pass unnoticed by his entourage, whose questions Thranduil could sense pending in the air. He turned to Galion and quietly ordered:

“Show our guests to their accommodations, Galion, they must be weary after the long travel.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“And, Galion?”

“Yes?”

Then the King switched to Sindarin, at which Turi threw an eloquent look at his grandson. Thranduil knew how it upset him, yet he honestly wondered how, after a century of trading, the Dwarf had not learnt a single Elvish word. The thick-headed _naug._

_“Galion, when they are settled, tell this young one he’s expected to dine with me.”_

_“My Lord?”_

_“Find some excuse. Say that I want to see for myself who will trade with the Realm after I leave, perhaps. Just make sure I have him for a private audience.”_

_“That is not the actual reason, then, I assume.”_

_“Galion, I hardly owe you any explanation, but don’t tell me your sight and memory failed you to the point that you did not notice.”_

_“That if Lord Gimli had had a son with himself, that would be the young Dwarf, you mean? Yes, my Lord, that I noticed.”_

Thranduil perfectly hid his amusement at the comment and turned back to the Dwarves. Kori was staring at him again, apparently shocked, and for a moment the King wondered if there was any possibility that he had understood. Turi turned to him to mutter something, by far not low enough for Elven hearing not to catch it.

“Watch it, you fool. I told you not to mention your dreams and the first thing you tell him is that he looks familiar?”

It was somehow disappointing that a century had not been enough for the Dwarf to learn how not to make himself heard by Elves. Once again, his own grandson appeared to be much more aware of who their host was, for his answer was actually a whisper soft enough for Thranduil to miss it.

“I _am_ keeping it down, lad. He cannot possibly hear!”

Muttered again the other as Galion approached them, and Kori only rolled his eyes at his grandfather before the Elf led them out of the room.

Thranduil inhaled quietly, and just as quietly exhaled, before he went to sit on his throne and started to think.

Perhaps there was still something for him to do on that side of the sea, after all.

\---

Kori followed in silence as the Elf gathered the other members of the caravan and led them to the chambers that had been prepared for them. Those who looked upon him could have thought him rather collected, if a little nervous, perhaps intimidated by the great Elven halls he was witnessing for the first time. They would be very wrong, however, for Kori was so filled with both excitement and fear that his attempt not to display such emotions was one of the greatest challenges he had ever faced.

He had not spent long in the throne room, and yet enough had happened for him to elucubrate on it for days, weeks, whole seasons. To have so much to think through and only a few hours to do so!

He had not been able to hide his shock at the sight of King Thranduil. Never had he seen him, and yet he was exactly as he knew him, both in appearance and attitude. Tall and slender, so similar to Legolas and yet so different. He was annoyed by the very presence of Turi in his halls, if Kori knew how to read behind his façade of politeness and diplomacy.

What was even more surprising was his interest in Kori. He had questioned him and spoken to him directly, despite his role of mere apprentice and the presence of his grandfather. He had asked whether he was related to the house of Durin, ha had mentioned the same branch Gimli belonged to. Oh, and last but not the least, there was the Sindarin thing.

In his dreams, he- well, Gimli- had learnt the language of the Elves after he bound himself to Legolas. It had taken him several years, but eventually he had become fluent, if with a rather strong accent. Not that Legolas’ Khuzdul was any better when it came to pronunciation.

However, those were dreams. It was possible that the Sindarin parts were made up by his own mind, though if he truly was having visions- which was the most likely option, at that point- Kori would only be able to understand the phrases and words he remembered hearing more often in his dreams. Or so he believed.

When the King had spoken to his butler and switched to Sindarin, it had taken Kori several moments to realize, as he had not the slightest problem understanding his words. Indeed, he had been started at the order of finding an excuse.

_What’s the point in finding an excuse if he speaks of it in front of us…?_

The Dwarf had wondered, turning to his grandfather to see him frowning in annoyance, and then he realized. They were speaking a different language. He understood it as naturally as he did Westron and Khuzdul, but it was neither. It was Elvish, he could have even answered if he wanted to, though it would not have been very wise even if he had not been entirely too shocked to even try and speak.

And so, Kori waited. He patiently waited as Galion led them to their accommodations, as he followed them inside the wide room that hosted a nice fireplace, already lit for them and with a stack of firewood ready to last the nigh, a large table and several doors that led to the bedrooms and bathing chamber.

“Please, make yourself at home. If you need anything, feel free to ask. Dinner will be served as usual.”

Said the Elf automatically, gaining a few nods and nothing more- clearly a routine to which they were all rather accustomed. Yet Kori was looking at him expectantly, and Galion raised an eyebrow in surprise as he turned to him.

“Master Kori, the King desires to invite you to his table. You shall dine with His Majesty, I suggest you refresh yourself from the weariness of the journey before I come to pick you up, a few hours from now.”

“I am honoured, Master Galion.”

Was all he said, hoping to get away with it. Foolish hope, of course.

“What’s that supposed to mean, I say? Master Galion, my grandson is an apprentice who has just come of age, what does the King want from him?”

He asked, rather upset- and terribly rude, Kori realized.

“Grandpa, the King is leaving soon. Perhaps he wishes to see for himself who is going to trade with the Realm in the future. What is more, he is the Lord of this Land, he owes us no explanation as long as no harm is made to body and mind.”

The young Dwarf felt somehow pierced by the two pairs of narrowed eyes that were staring at him. Turi was probably offended by his defence of the Elvenking. Galion was… surprised by it? Suspicious, even, at hearing a nearly perfect quotation of his King’s words?

“So young and yet so wise, master Kori. Very well, I shall come back soon then, do not make me wait.”

Said the Elf before swiftly leaving the room. Kori, avoiding his grandfather’s stare, walked straight into the bathing room and started following Galion’s advice.

\---

The King had asked him to fetch a rather strong wine, Galion considered as he left the cellar and walked towards the dining room. It was not of a kind he would offer to mortals, unless- did the King intend to have the Dwarf horribly drunk after a couple of glasses? But, no, he had subtler and more effective ways to exert information, he had no need to make him stupid with alcohol and risk him feeling sick on the carpet.

He placed the bottle on the long table and automatically checked that everything else was in order, and just as Thranduil had demanded. The complete set of cutleries that he would request for formal occasions had been polished and set on the table, a range of mithril sauce boats filled with different dressings were elegantly displayed. It looked as if an Elf Lord, or at least a mortal King, was going to be the dinner guest that night, definitely not a young, Dwarven apprentice trader.

“Is everything ready?”

The Elf barely stopped himself from jumping in surprise as the Elvenking’s voice came from behind him. He turned and bowed his head before answering.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Very well. Go fetch him, then.”

And thus, Galion was back at the chambers that had been arranged for the Dwarves. He did not intend to eavesdrop. Not that it was something his moral would forbid him to do, on the contrary, the butler was a master in that art, but for once he heard _by accident_. The fact that he continued to listen after the first few words was completely irrelevant.

_“Don’t do or say anything stupid. ‘Yes King Thranduil, No King Thranduil, Thank you King Thranduil’, that’s the whole range of vocabulary you should use tonight. And for the love of Mahal, forget that gibberish about Gimli. Forget those blasted dreams of yours. Forget everything that is not trading with this accursed place.”_

_“Grandpa, enough, it will be fine. I can handle a dinner.”_

_“How do you know? You have no idea of the wicked ways of the Elvenking. I don’t know what he’s scheming but I know I won’t like it.”_

_“It’s unwise to speak such of the King who hosts you. At least listen to me and speak lower, if you must! Elven hearing-”_

_“What do you know or wisdom? What of Elves? You never left Erebor before, don’t be foolish.”_

Galion would have listened to the conversation for hours, but he could not let the King wait. He knocked, and a moment later Kori was at the door, face clean, beard braided, travelling clothes replaced by a more elegant -but not impractical- tunic.

“You seem rather confident, Master Dwarf. Rarely our hosts are at ease when they are required to attend private audience with the King, especially your kin. I would say ignorance is to be held responsible, and yet your grandfather has extensively warned you.”

Considered Galion as the two walked towards the dining room, making Kori slightly flush at the last sentence.

“I apologize on account of my grandfather, Gal- Master Galion. He does not believe what he says.”

“Oh, he does believe, indeed. You, on the other hand, don’t, am I correct?”

“I believe subtlety to be one thing, and wickedness to be another, and I believe the first to fit better.”

The butler nodded, and they spoke no more, for they reached the room where the King was already seated at the head of the table, waiting.

“Be welcome, grandson of Turi. Please, have a seat, dinner will be served promptly.”

“I thank you, o Great King. Your invitation honours me.”

He responded before he moved to sit on the chair the King had gestured towards.

“Pour the wine, Galion.”

Said Thranduil as two Elves walked inside and placed two rich plates in front of him and his guest.

“Hannon allen.”

Said Kori automatically to the Elves, then mentally cursed himself. Galion and the other two looked at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I’ell nîn, master Dwarf.”

Said Galion after some moments, answering in kind to the Dwarf’s formal thanks. Thranduil showed no surprise, nor any other reaction, and as soon as food and drinks were set, he asked to be left alone with his guest.

He raised his glass to his lips without a word while his entourage left and took several sips before placing it down on the table. His gaze remained fixed on the Dwarf the entire time.

“Drink, Master Dwarf. Taste the wine.”

Kori nodded and raised the glass in turn. As soon as the scent reached his nose, he recognized the wine he was about to taste and stopped short.

_“Gimli? Are you awake?”_

_“Mmmmmh. Stop screaming.”_

_“I’m whispering, meleth. I’m sorry, I did not think it would affect you so.”_

_“How much did I drink?”_

_“Less than two glasses. it’s rather strong.”_

_“Strong? I know strong, Legolas, that thing is not strong. It’s an actual weapon.”_

_“I’m starting to believe so. Do you remember anything?”_

_“No. Made a fool of myself?”_

_“You had not the time. Your stomach turned every time you tried to move or speak. When you weren’t throwing up, you were sweating for the effort of fighting the nausea.”_

_“Mahal.”_

_“Forgive me, had I known, I would not have offered it.”_

_“Your father?”_

_“He scolded me for wasting good wine and nearly killing the mortal I took the responsibility of marrying ten years ago.”_

_Legolas leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead. The Dwarf closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that he felt like an axe was embedded in his skull. He failed._

_“Oh, Mahal fuck me.”_

_He complained._

_“He’d like to.”_

_Retorted Legolas, as he always did when Gimli used that phrase, and actually gaining a giggle from him despite his miserable conditions._

_“I will brew something to soothe your stomach and help you sleep some more.”_

_“Thank you, lad.”_

Kori could not hesitate longer. He could feel Thranduil’s gaze on himself, expectant, inquiring. He took the smallest sip he could without being plainly ridiculous and put the glass back down, a tentative smile of appreciation forced on his lips. The King seemed satisfied, or at least, he did not insist for him to drink more.

“My cooks did their best to present you some of our finest delicacies. I strongly suggest you taste them. Once you have poured the dressings, of course.”

Where the King was trying to get at, Kori had no idea. He knew Thranduil was testing him, but he could not tell what the test was about. His best option was to behave, try not to upset him, wait for him to talk and follow his directions- speaking of which…

He looked at his plate for some moments. He had been served stewed rabbit, boiled carrots, and mashed potatoes.

_Finest delicacies my hairy ass._

“Help yourself.”

The King insisted, gesturing towards the sauce boats in front of them. Gimli looked at the first one and recognized it as a spicy, rather creamy sauce made with red wine, flour, peppers and turmeric. Surprisingly appreciated by the Elves of Ithilien, he knew, and it was meant to accompany meat- so he poured it over the rabbit and moved on. His hand hovered over the second dressing and, after a moment, skipped it. It was plain lemon juice. Good for fresh salad, but that was not the case. The next sauce was a white, slightly yellowish thing that produced a strong scent of garlic. Again, it was something he had learnt about from Legolas. It contained several spices and was based on lemon and garlic juice. Not bad for carrots, but better not to exaggerate with quantities. Finally, he got to the last sauce and winced. It was a cheese sauce, extremely tasty, made with dairy products shipped from Dale. It was going to mess with the sturdiest intestines after a couple of hours, but it was terrific on potatoes, and it wasn’t like he had much choice, so he took it and poured.

“Extremely good choices.”

Was Thranduil’s comment.

“I am convinced you will be delighted.”

Kori nodded politely and, after a moment of consideration, choose one of the eight forks and one of the five knives that were set out for him. Gimli had spent six months a year in Ithilien for his entire married life, as a Dwarf Lord, espouse of the Elf Lord of the place. Which meant that Kori had spent many, many nights playing in first person the role of a Dwarf Lord espouse of the Elf Lord of Ithilien. He knew what to do with Elven formal cutlery, thank you very much.

It was not going so bad, he thought, but as soon as the first piece of rabbit was cut, he felt ice through is veins. He raised his head to meet the cold gaze of a definitely unamused Thranduil.

“Who are you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I believe my question was rather clear.”

Kori put down his fork and took a mental deep breath. He could handle it. He had no idea of the reason behind the sudden mood change, and he strongly suspected that the King was actually upset from the very beginning and was only waiting the right moment to unleash his ire.

Cat and mouse.

But yes, he could handle it. He knew Thranduil, he had never been so confident about this before.

“I am Kori, grandson and apprentice of Turi, of Erebor.”

“And tell me, how comes that you are educated in Elven courtesy? You are familiar with our food and etiquette.”

“My grandfather-”

“Your grandfather barely remembers that he speaks to a King when I receive him. You cannot expect me to believe that he is your trainer in this. You can even exchange formal phrases in our language- assuming you are not a proper Sindarin speaker. Pedil edhellen?”

It was at that moment that Kori started wondering if he had gone too far. As the Elvenking asked him if he spoke Elvish, he decided that at that point he could not go back and keep a low profile. What was left for him to do was to move forward and go for broke.

“Pedin edhellen, Âr-Thranduil.”

“And after that, you expect me to believe that the way you look is a mere coincidence?”

“Great King, I fail to understand.”

“Let us review together, then.”

Said Thranduil, nonchalantly taking a bite of carrot.

“180 years ago, my only son joins a fellowship of nine people for an almost suicidal quest. The Valar know how, they succeed and eight out of nine gets back alive.”

So far so good.

“My son has gotten fond of the mortals of the Fellowship. Friendship strongly unites them, and three years after King Elessar’s coronation l am informed that Legolas is going to marry one of said mortals, the only Dwarf, Gimli, son of Glóin, and I am told that I should rejoice that love has bloomed in the darkest hours and many other foolish things.

For the first time in centuries I agree with a Dwarf, with Master Glóin - may Aulë keep him in his Halls- in the belief that our sons have lost their mind. With time, it turns out that they have not. As the years pass, I come to believe that their love is as true as they insist it is, that they are… _meant to be_. I am given very good reasons to believe that the Valar themselves give their blessing to such union. And so I mourn that my son is forever tied to one whose lifespan is but a snap of the fingers for an Eldar, but find comfort in the knowledge that what they have, short as it is, is happiness, and that someday they will walk side by side as Arda is made anew. 60 years ago, after King Elessar’s last breath, both of them leave this shores in a modest boat, headed to Valinor. Gimli has started going white by then, meaning he is in the last decade of his life, more or less.

And today, a young Dwarf who looks stunningly similar to Gimli shows up at my court, displaying good manners, knowledge of Elvish custom and fluency in Sindarin. He is vague about his lineage and does not give away the name of his father. In light of this, quit lying and tell me. How are you related to the Son of Glóin? He cannot be your father, he left too early. Your grandfather, perhaps? Your father is his son, or your mother his daughter?”

“What? As if I could ever be untrue to Legolas!”

“What have you said?”

“As if…”

He hesitated. What had he said, indeed?

“As if he could ever be untrue to Leg- to his husband.”

Thranduil was silent, a kind of silent that Kori had never experienced through his dreamland alter ego before.

See, Thranduil could be silent in many ways. He could be slightly annoyed silent, barely looking at you. He could be furious silent, and if his eyes could kill you would be dead in seconds. He could be pleased silent, sometimes, if you positively impressed him. He was rather good at being silent as a mean of communication or reaction, to be fair.

This time, however, Thranduil was silent with overthinking. Kori could almost hear his mind elaborating information and considering variables as the Elvenking’s eyes remained fixated on him for several minutes.

“He would not, would he.”

Kori did not answer. Not that Thranduil was actually speaking to him, anyway.

“You speak as you knew well those two who departed from these lands several years before you were even born. The only logical conclusion I can think of, Master Dwarf, is that one of your parents truly was Gimli’s child. Born before the War, perhaps- you mortals take matters of the bed so lightly. What surprises me is that, for you to hold such knowledge, said child must have spent many years with Gimli _after_ the War.”

Kori did not need to hear the questions in Thranduil’s mind. He could guess them rather easily. Did Gimli and Legolas _raise_ a young dwarf together? Why on Arda he had never heard of it? Why on Arda had no one ever heard of it, or if some had, never spoken of it? Was this child still alive, or was Kori Gimli’s only direct descendant? Was he going to reclaim rights over Aglarond, or even over Ithilien, given Gimli’s marital status?

All very good questions, had the premise been correct.

“Great King.”

He started, tentatively. Thranduil waited for him to go on.

“Great King, my father had nothing to do with the greatest hero of my Kin. You say that we mortals take matters of the bed too lightly, and perhaps you are right, for I was conceived after too much ale, for what I am told. We usually do take our responsibilities, however.

He did not. He left my mother after she gave birth, and the heartbreak killed her, fragile as she was already. He was, to be fair, and therefore I am, related to the line of Durin. But the relation is a very distant one and from an entirely different branch than the one Lord Gimli belonged to.”

“Very well. I will not deem you a liar, as long as you can provide an alternative, logical explanation for the incredible set of coincidences I witnessed today.”

Kori barely stopped himself from groaning. He did have an explanation, though it was anything but logical. He wished Legolas was there, silly a wish as it was. The Lord of Ithilien didn’t even know about his existence, in all likelihood, and yet the Dwarf could not help but miss his encouraging smile, the knowing looks they shared, the way he would swiftly squeeze his knee under the table to show support whenever Thranduil exaggerated. Oh, he had to stop thinking about those things in first person. He was not Gimli, no matter that every night it felt like the opposite.

“I will give you the truth, Your Majesty, but I cannot expect you to believe it. No one ever has, until now.”

He said, honestly. He would probably end up banished from Eryn Lasgalen, if he was lucky, but what else could he do? Mahal forgive him, he should have listened to Grandpa. He had warned him to keep a low profile, but it was too late for that, now.

“Go on.”

Kori started to speak. It was unsettling, to open up so much with the Elvenking. He explained how it all started, stumbling on words as he mentioned childhood in Ered Luin and the return to Erebor. By the time he got to the Council of Elrond, however, Thranduil was listening keenly, narrowed eyes staring at the Dwarf, and Kori got a little more confident. He spoke of their quest, of the Lady, of Legolas of course.

He spoke of their walks in Lórien, of kill-counting through the battles. He spoke of Hobbits and Men, of love and friendship and courage and fear. He spoke of the dead, he spoke of gulls and sea-longing. He spoke of peace, of a new Age, of Aglarond and Ithilien, of Gondor and its former King and Queen. He spoke of weddings, of rebuilding, of woods growing back to splendour and mountains coming back to life.

He spoke of long years on Middle-Earth, of sorrow and mourning in Gondor, of Eldarion’s coronation. He spoke of leaving then, of sailing to the west, and here he stopped.

“What else?”

Asked Thranduil, surprising them both as he broke the silence.

“Did they reach Valinor?”

“They did, if my… dreams are to be trusted.”

“You did not get a single thing wrong until now. I fail to see why it should be different.”

Kori couldn’t help but widening his eyes. Not only the King _did_ believe him, he had just confirmed that it was not something made up by his own mind.

“It’s late, Master Dwarf. Finish your meal.”

“I am afraid that so much talking made me lose my appetite, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, it shall be said among Dwarves that I am a poor host, then, to make my guests starve.”

“It shall not, Your Majesty.”

“Very well. I should like to hear what you can tell of Valinor tomorrow, once trade regulation is settled. You shall dine with me again.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

With that, Kori was sent back to the quarters assigned to the Dwarves and found, with great relief, that they were all asleep. He was in no mood to handle questions, let alone his grandfather’s bad temper. He slipped off his clothes and into bed as quietly as possible and, with a low sigh, curled around himself.

To speak of it aloud, at last, to recount those moments had felt like finally breathing fresh air after holding breath for too long. Wholesome, inebriating, but now he had no idea how to get back. He felt more than ever that he belonged to a world and time that were not his own. The knowledge that his visions were of truth, and not a result of his imagination, had come along with the realization that he felt bound to someone else’s life more than to his own- and he had not the slightest idea of the reason behind all that. What use was it for him or any that he knew in such detail of Gimli’s life?

Thranduil was going to depart soon and he was the only connection to that world and time left on this side of the sea. What was he supposed to do, alone with that knowledge?

He shut his eyes. He missed Legolas, he _ached_ to feel his arms around him, and perhaps if he was very lucky and managed to fall asleep, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Again, not a native English speaker, please let me know if you notice anything.  
> This was a very Thranduil chapter, but I really needed it- and Kori too. Next chapter will see a little more action, some more Thranduil and a lot of Gimli/Legolas feels. 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far, and/or leave kudos if you're enjoying this.
> 
> Sindarin is again from: https://realelvish.net/
> 
> Naug: Dwarf (Literal: stunted). 
> 
> Hannon allen: I thank you (formal).  
> I'ell nîn: You're welcome (Literal: My joy)
> 
> Meleth: Love
> 
> Pedil edhellen?: Do you speak Elvish?  
> Pedin edhellen: I speak Elvish.
> 
> Âr-Thranduil: Lord Thranduil


	3. Yet, I know it's true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is going to change, and Legolas, despite the pain, can sense it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lost count of how many times exactly I've completely rewritten this chapter. Six or seven different drafts, I believe. I've finally reached a result that I find satisfying, so here we go with chapter three! I hope you'll enjoy it.

“Legolas. A rare sight it is, to see the first Lord of Ithilien of this Age walking on the shore. How fare you?”

“Lord Elrond.”

The younger Elf bowed his head and smiled softly.

“I fare well. Better, lately, I must admit.”

Elrond couldn’t do anything but agree. For the last decades, Legolas had rarely left the comfort of the wood, and only when needed. Valinor could do much to ease pain and sorrow for any Elf, but even such a place was unable to completely eradicate memories and grief from an Elven heart and soul. The former Lord of Rivendell knew that well, for the thought of his own now long-lost daughter still hurt him like a dagger stuck in his very heart.

Yet, he knew Legolas’ pain was perhaps even more difficult to overcome.

Arwen had chosen mortal life to be near her beloved. It was the greatest of pains to her parents, but she had chosen it freely, and willingly. Legolas had never had that choice.

He was forced to endure. He could do nothing but stay, remember, miss. And hope, hope that someday, when the World would be made anew, they would meet again.

At the moment, the Elven Prince and Lord did look healthier than he had since Gimli’s death, on that very shore. Yet he looked deeply troubled, concerned, which made Lord Elrond frown.

“I can see that. May I join you in your walk, while you are in the mood?”

“Of course. Some company would be appreciated.”

_Would it? Now, that’s a change of attitude._

They walked in silence for a while, the morning sun slowly warming up the sand beneath their feet. Elrond could see that Legolas wanted to talk, but he deemed it better not to push him, waiting for him to find the words.

“My Lord, I wonder if I may ask for your counsel. Your wisdom is well acknowledged, and I for one have had the luck to be witness of such many times.”

“I can see that something upsets you deeply, Legolas. Go ahead.”

“I feel better, Lord Elrond. I’ve never felt my hearth so light since Gimli- since he passed.”

Said the younger Elf.

“I rejoice to hear so. What is it that troubles you so, then?”

“Just that, my Lord. My good spirits concern me.”

Elrond frowned a moment before grasping the meaning behind those words. He smiled softly as he placed a featherlike hand on Legolas’ shoulder.

“You feel guilty for healing, don’t you?”

Legolas only nodded, staring at the sea.

“Child. Sit with me a moment.”

Said Elrond, gently directing him towards a large, smooth rock.

“Legolas, open your heart to me, if you can. Tell me how you feel, what has changed.”

“I still miss him like the drowning man misses breathing. It’s like what they say about losing a limb, that you feel it even if it’s not there anymore. I feel him beside me, I sense his steps, I hear his heartbeat. There hasn’t been a single morning I have woken up without reaching out my arm to his side of the bed.”

“Yet you say that there has been improvement.”

“Yes. There are things I enjoy again. Almost out of the blue, I started feeling the urge to reach the shore. I can smile at the sand between my fingers. I feel a sort of anticipation, what for, I know not. I sang to the trees, some days ago.”

Elrond remained silent for a while, waiting to see whether he was going to add something. When it was clear that he wasn’t, the Half-Elf cleared his throat.

“Close your eyes.”

“My Lord?”

“Close your eyes. Trust me.”

Legolas complied, uncertain on what to expect.

“Can you remember his face?”

“Yes, of course. Every strand of his beard, each and single wrinkle.”

“And what about his voice? Does it still echo in your ears?”

“Constantly, my Lord.”

“What was that profanity on Aulë you were always saying…?”

Legolas only gave a chuckle at that. They were already in Valinor when Elrond had first heard that juvenile joke.

_They were sitting at a long table, shortly after their arrival on Valinor. Old friends had greeted them, invited them for dinner in good company. They had long finished their meal, but they were still recounting many tales of the Eastern side of the sea._

_“…we never expected that. Mahal fuck me.”_

_“He’d like to”, Legolas said automatically, as always._

_“Legolas!”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Don’t say such things.”_

_“I always do. Does it upset you now? Why?”_

_“You don’t say such things in front of Lords and royalty.”_

_“Are you blushing? Gimli, we are Lords and royalty, remember? Besides, you never minded jesting so in front of Aragorn and Arwen.”_

_Gimli looked as if he wanted to sink in the ground. Lord Elrond was sitting beside his wife, and next to her sat her parents, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Legolas thought, for a moment, that the Dwarf feared their reaction. They had left Middle Earth when he and Gimli were good friends and nothing more. Yet, since their arrival that morning, none of them had given the two any reason to believe that they were upset with their marriage._

_Then it hit him._

_“Oh, I get it, meleth.”_

_He said with a mischievous smile that Gimli did not like a bit._

_“I shall not embarrass you in front of the Lady Galadriel again, fret not.”_

_“Will you shut up!”_

Elrond’s voice snapped the Elf out of his memories and back on the shore.

“The oils he used for his beard, Legolas. What scent?”

“Spices. White musk.”

He answered promptly.

“And he always wore the scent of leather and coal, but that was not the oil.”

“You see where I’m going, don’t you? Do you remember his hands?”

Legolas smiled softly, and just as softly blushed a moment later. Elrond couldn’t resist pushing it just a little.

“Do you remember the taste of his lips?”

“Lord Elrond!”

Legolas almost shouted, his eyes back wide open.

“Forgive my teasing.” He said, smiling. “Did I make my point? You shall never forget him, Legolas. You’re allowed to let your soul heal. It’s only natural.”

Legolas nodded slowly.

“I can imagine why you are so afraid of forgetting. But you’re not, and you will not.”

_“Thank you for such a warm greeting.”_

_“Don’t mention it, Legolas. We are only glad to meet old friends again. Especially when at least one of them is such an unexpected surprise.”_

_“A pleasant one, I hope, Lord Elrond.”_

_“Pleasant indeed, Gimli, believe me. It’s good to see you again, and to know that the members of the Fellowship have remained so… close. Who would have guessed, when I sent you out after the council?”_

_They shared a smile, then Elrond continued._

_“Speaking of which, you look so similar to Master Glóin now that I almost mistook you for him, when I saw you setting foot on these shores.”_

_Gimli frowned at that, confusion in his eyes._

_“Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but I’m afraid I never met this Master Glóin. Was he at the council?”_

_Elrond stopped walking and turned towards the Dwarf._

_“What do you say?”_

_Legolas shook his head softly, then he placed his hands over Gimli’s shoulders, his thumbs softly stroking the Dwarf’s tunic._

_“Meleth, of course you met him. You knew him well, he was your father, think about it.”_

_“I remember my father!”_

_“I know you do. And what was his name?”_

_Gimli frowned more, clearly trying to focus. He looked lost for a moment, but Legolas took his hands and squeezed them tight._

_“It’s okay. Think about when you introduce yourself. Gimli, son of…?”_

_A few more moments, then the frown cleared._

_“Gimli, son of Glóin, son of Gróin. How could I forget my own father?”_

_“You did not. Merely lost his name for a moment. It’s back now, isn’t it?”_

_The Dwarf nodded and took a deep sigh._

_“Apologies, Lord Elrond. My memory tends to fail me every now and then.”_

“As for the anticipation you feel, the Lady Galadriel believes that a ship will get here soon. I wouldn’t be surprised to see King Thranduil in there, nor would I be if you could sense it.”

“Do you think so?”

“Indeed. Why don’t you join us for lunch? My wife’s mother would be glad to see you, and to tell you a few words of her own on the subject, if you wish.”

“I would be honoured.”

Said Legolas with a faint smile as the pair rose up and resumed walking.

“Perhaps you are right. It’s just that I cannot risk forgetting. I live in hope to find him again, when Arda will be made anew. There’s no telling when that day will come, if it ever will. If we both were to forget, how would we find each other?”

“You both…? Legolas. He’s not forgetting you. Old age cannot affect his mind in the Halls of Aulë.”

_The festival was full of colours and music. If anything, the Elves knew how to enjoy a fest, when they wanted to._

_“Your husband has a beautiful voice, my Lady.”_

_“I thank you on his account, Lord Gimli. He does. Oft I would ask him to sing for me, when we were younger.”_

_Gimli smiled a soft smile at that, but his gaze got lost into the air in front of him, as if he was staring at something no one else could see._

_“Lord Gimli? Are you well?”_

_“Yes, Lady Galadriel, I was just trying to remember something. I was married to an Elf Lord too, could you believe that? He would sing to me as well. I just cannot remember what happened to him, nor when did we part and why.”_

_Everyone within earshot abruptly stopped what they were doing and turned towards the Dwarf. Legolas, who had been standing near deep in conversation with Lindir, rushed to his husband’s side._

_“Gimli.”_

_He said, hands on his arms, eyes locked with his, and he waited patiently for the fog to dissolve from the Dwarf’s eyes._

_“Legolas.”_

_He said, realizing what had happened. His broken voice was enough for the others to politely look away._

_“I don’t know how that happened, I-”_

_“Gimli, peace. You must be tired, that’s all. Is all well now?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“Good. Come, let us go rest.”_

_The Dwarf opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly changed his mind. He wanted to be alone with Legolas, to be honest._

_The last thing the Elf could hear, as he led the Dwarf back home, was Lindir’s voice, whispering to someone:_

_“See, that’s what happens when you get attached to mortals. Alas for Prince Legolas.”_

"I believed I was prepared. Not ready, but prepared."

Said Legolas, slightly shaking his head.

"The day I committed to him, I knew he was a mortal. I knew he was going to grow old, to lose his strength. I knew that he was going to need me beside him, and that eventually he would leave me. I had come to terms with that."

"But?"

"But I had never thought about what age would do to his mind. I was never prepared to see him losing his own self. He was crumbling like a sandcastle, slipping through my fingers as I tried to hold it together. I was terrified that one day he would just stop recognizing me, stop for good, and a lifetime together would be gone in a matter of seconds."

Elrond closed his eyes a moment.

Alas for Prince Legolas, indeed.

Alas for Queen Arwen, as well.

“Let us go, my friend. Fret not. Wherever Lord Gimli is now, he’s thinking about you.”

\---

_“Please.”_

_“Gimli, we haven’t done any of that for years. Why now?”_

_“I understand that you don’t find me comely anymore, but please, just this time.”_

_“Peace, meleth, wait a moment. Who says that I don’t find you comely?”_

_“The fact that you haven’t tried to do anything in our bed since I started aging. But I understand that, what I’m asking you is to make an exception, just for tonight-”_

_“Gimli, once again, peace. You misunderstood. You… your body stopped reacting. I would not risk hurting you for something only I would enjoy, that’s why I started avoiding that kind of intimacy. It has nothing to do with your looks.”_

_“Are you serious?”_

_“I wouldn’t lie.”_

_“Legolas, I don’t need an erection to enjoy you. And you won’t hurt me, I’m not made of glass.”_

_The Elf sighed, shifting in the bed to make room for the Dwarf._

_“Come here, let me hold you. Why do you insist so right now? You don’t have to make up for what happened out there, I hope you know.”_

_“It’s not about making up for it. I blacked out on you for a moment. It was dreadful. I need to feel you, to have you inside me. Time is trying to steal my memories away, help me make new ones. Legolas, I’m begging you.”_

_“Enough, enough. No begging, there’s no need. Just promise to warn me, were you to feel any discomfort.”_

_“I promise. Come here, at last.”_

_“Meleth.”_

_\---_

“Good evening. Have you been waiting for long?”

“Not at all, King Thranduil.”

“Sit down, Master Kori. Let us dine, and you’ll tell me of Valinor, as you promised.”

“Indeed, great Lord. I fear the story might be rather bittersweet, though.”

“By all means, go ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go.   
> As usual: no native English speaker here. If you notice anything wrong please let me know!  
> Tell me what you think of this chapter, it was much more challenging that I expected. I've only mentioned Gimli's memory issues, it was supposed to be the main theme, but it had turned out way too dark and angsty, not really what I wanted for this fic.   
> It was supposed to be longer as well, but the upcoming parts needs a separate chapter, I believe.


	4. But if I know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is clever. 
> 
> Mahal is a nice Vala. 
> 
> Legolas is a bit Dwarven.
> 
> Kori is ~~sexy~~ Gimli and he knows it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a moment to deeply thank all the people who are reading and commenting this work. I appreciate so much that people take the time to read, leave kudos and/or write a comment to something I wrote. Thank you all so much!

Kori was feeling much more relaxed than the previous evening.

Thranduil hadn’t been testing him, this time. He had been mostly listening, taking in every word on his son’s days in Valinor.

“The night is warm, Master Kori. Walk with me among the trees.”

Said the King unexpectedly once they had finished their dinner. Kori decided to take that as a good sign, an ulterior proof that he had somehow managed to gain the Elvenking’s respect. The evening so far had been almost pleasant, Thranduil being a rather polite host, never rebuking or reprimanding the Dwarf, never even making snide remarks.

Clearly, he thought as he followed the King outside the castle, he had learnt something from Gimli. The more he considered the matter, the more confident he got. He had _charmed_ the Elvenking. Was that exaggerated? But, no. Thranduil treating with such regard a _stranger_ , not any stranger, but one that he had deemed suspicious and a liar just the day before, was a wonder, anyone would agree.

“Kori.”

Said the King as they slowly walked along the main path, and the young Dwarf felt even more confident, interpreting the lack of a title as a sign of familiarity.

“What’s the very last thing you’ve seen in your dreams?”

That was a rather odd question. Frowning slightly, Kori focused on his dreams of the previous night. He couldn’t help but smile fondly as he recounted.

“Aglarond, my Lord. The first Celebration for Durin’s Day since the colony had settled. Legolas was there as well, with a small group of Elves, as official guests. It was unusual, to say the least, but we had made a point to improve friendship among our races and our people, to build mutual trust and knowledge.”

When he looked up, Thranduil was staring at him intently, eyes narrowed, posture rigid.

“I mean, they did, of course, my Lord.”

He corrected himself as soon as he realized.

“Forgive me, Great King. My dreams are always in first person, sometimes I make that mistake without even noticing.”

“Sometimes? You’ve been making that same… _mistake_ all evening, Master Dwarf. I fail to be offended, if that is your concern. Those dreams of yours come to you alike memories, according to your recount.”

Said the Elvenking, then, all of a sudden, he left the path and walked into the wood. Kori, taken aback from the sudden change, followed him a few seconds later.

“Fret not. I know this forest like the back of my hand. About my last question, I fear you misunderstood me.”

“Your Majesty?”

“I meant to ask you which of your dreams was the last. Chronologically. If you were Lord Gimli, what would be your last memory?”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for several minutes as Kori tried to find the words. It wasn’t pleasant, it wasn’t at all.

“Do I have to speak of it?”

He tentatively asked when he could no longer stay silent.

“I will not force you. But I would much appreciate it if you did comply to my request.”

_‘Yes, you do’,_ was the obvious translation.

The Dwarf took a deep sigh.

“If I were Lord Gimli, my last memory would be my own death, King Thranduil.”

“Go ahead.”

_He was lying on the bed, eyes wide open as he struggled for breath. He didn’t want to. No more struggling, no more fighting, his time on Arda was over and he didn’t want to resist. But his body was moving on its own accord, his muscles were trying to get some air in his chest, to get his lungs to work. He could see nothing but blurred colours in front of him, and that was his curse and his blessing. He couldn’t see Legolas’ fair face one more time, and for that he ached. Yet, he could hear him. His broken voice and high sobs were muffled to Gimli’s ears, but enough to tell him that the sight of his Elf so distraught would have haunted him until the Second Song._

_“Gimli. Meleth. Meleth-nín, don’t leave me, not yet. Just a little more, stay with me a little more.”_

_Wish that I could, my Love, my fair Elf. My time has come, and I have nothing to offer you but the hope that, someday, we’ll meet again._

_“Gimli, please! Breathe with me. Here, please, look at me, don’t leave. Don’t.”_

_Hadn’t we agreed that we would be brave, when this day would come? Hadn’t you promised that you would be brave and let me go? Oh, but you are brave, my dearest one. You will not fall into despair. You will endure, I know, through eternal grief and sorrow. I can do nothing to spare you such a cruel destiny, and yet, how could I blame you for begging such of me? Wouldn’t I do the same, were I in your stead?_

_I can do nothing but try and hold your hands. You’re sobbing still, but you’re speaking no more. I hear more voices, sobs even. Are we not alone? How many Elves are there to witness the last moments of this mortal? My friends, go away. I can guess who you are. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Gandalf, at least them._

_Oh, Elven Lord and Lady, leave. Spare yourself this painful sight, spare yourself the thoughts it brings, thoughts of the King Aragorn on the other side of the sea and his beloved Elven maiden, fair Queen Arwen, who suffered no less than Legolas. Shorter-lived was her pain, at least that._

_Oh, great Wizard, how many friends have you lost in your long life? Many are the mortals who can call you their friend, many are those who grieved when we thought you lost in the depths of Khazad-Dum. Do you grief when you lose a friend, or did you get used to it, at some point? Is it something immortal creatures can get used to? I doubt it. Why would so many Elves have kept themselves from befriending mortals, if habit could make them numb to grief?_

_“Gimli.”_

_You call me again, but you’re not begging. You’re calling me with the softer of voices, and I realize this is how I want to remember your voice. Your battle cries make -made, they made me proud. Your laugher fills my heart with warmth. The lustful moans you make when we are joined make me lose my mind. Your songs made me cry and smile. But this is what I will cling to. My name on your lips, as soft as a caress, the story of our impossible love in it, an Elf calling the name of his Dwarf. I will hold onto that. Onto the promise that we made to each other, onto the promise that was made to us._

_There is a reason, there must be one, if you were given a-_

_“Gimli, don’t forget me. I’ll wait for you. Wait for me. Remember me. Never forget me, never forget who we are.”_

_It’s a whisper, as soft as before, but this time my heart aches. You fear that I’ll forget you. I try to speak, I try to tell you that I won’t, that I could never, but all I manage is a scratching noise from my throat._

_“Hush. Hush, I know you won’t. Forgive me. Hush.”_

_You say, and I can hear your smile. You understand me without hearing me, I can see your face even if my sight is failing. And your lips on my forehead are the last thing I remember._

“King Thranduil, I beg of you.”

Kori’s voice was broken. He had tried to recount those last moments, to convey the things that Gimli felt and thought, but it was too vivid, too personal, as if such emotions and thoughts were his own. As usual, of course, but that episode was too much for him to handle.

“Enough.”

Was all that Thranduil said, and for a moment Kori believed that the Elvenking’s voice was, if not as broken as his own, at least a little cracked. Was he moved on account of Legolas’ pain? Or did he perhaps grieve for Gimli himself? Kori had gotten the idea that Thranduil, eventually, _eventually_ , had become vaguely fond of the Dwarf Lord. But perhaps he was just mistaken; perhaps Thranduil was merely annoyed by his incapability of properly recounting that event.

“That was enough to answer my question. Forgive my insistence.”

He said after some more minutes. He stopped walking and turned to face the Dwarf. Well. He was towering over him, rather than facing him.

“Master Kori.”

He said, sharp. Back to formal titles, then?

The pale moonlight played with his white skin and silver robes, enveloping him in a faint, whiteish aura. The night was in his eyes, and as he bent a little forward, he fixated them on Kori.

“We strayed rather far from the palace. No sentient creature can hear us, here.”

Suddenly, Kori’s confidence fled. His conviction that he had made a good impression slipped away like sand between his fingers, and his belief to know the Elvenking through Gimli’s experience was overwhelmed by doubts.

What on Arda was the Elf implying? Had Kori said something wrong? What was he going to do to him, that he wanted to keep from anyone’s earshot? He wouldn’t _torture_ him. Would he?

“Have you ever dreamt of Aulë’s halls, Kori?”

“King Thranduil?”

“Never a dream, a vision on his afterlife?”

Was he going to kill him? No, he would never. Thranduil could be annoying as a bumpy saddle, he could test you and even insult you. But he’d never tended to violence. Even when he had Thorin and his company in his dungeons, he never harmed a hair on their head.

And yet, Kori couldn’t help but take a step back, only to find himself pressed against a large tree.

He tried to slide to the side and move further, but Thranduil was quicker. Long fingers were gripping Kori’s shoulders, pinning him against the trunk with surprising strength.

“Answer me.”

“Never, my Lord. I would very much like to remain oblivious to the matter of Aulë’s halls for some more time.”

He tried to jest, but it didn’t seem to work. Thranduil leaned closer, and the Dwarf felt his mouth and throat go completely dry. He was starting to be seriously frightened.

The King was- different. Never had he seen him like this before, not in any of his dreams. He didn’t really look threatening, that worked much better with gelid stares and slight twitches of the lips.

No, he looked almost distressed, and at the same time as determined as he could be.

“I’m about to do something, Master Kori.”

“My Lord?”

“Something that I am not actually supposed to do. I can only hope that I’m not mistaken, and that the Valar will forgive me my crime.”

And then the King’s thin lips were just next the Dwarf’s ear, and just when Kori started to seriously wonder if he was going to tell him how he would dispose of his body, a single Khuzdul word slipped in a whisper from the King’s mouth.

Kori widened his eyes, his own mouth open in a silent scream.

The king stared back at him, almost frightened for a moment. But as soon as he took in Kori’s incredulous look, he relaxed. He straightened up and, in a moment, he was back to his usual glamour, despite his breathing being a little too heavy.

“It matches, then.”

He said, twisting his lips in a satisfied grin.

_What they had gone through before they could get to that day, only the Valar knew._

_But they were there, at last._

_The Lord of Ithilien and the Lord of Aglarond would soon be officially married._

_They were standing in front of Aragorn, King of Gondor, and they were surrounded by friends and family- which was rather unexpected. Lords of their own colonies, heroes of their Age and soon to be wed in Gondor by its King, they needed no permission nor approval from anyone. But from their families they would have appreciated the latter, which eventually they had surprisingly received._

_Neither the great Elvenking nor the good Gl_ _ó_ _in looked enthusiast on the matter, but they were there. Gimli’s mother, on the other hand, looked rather in awe, smiling at her son, at Legolas, squeezing Glóin’s hand in an affectionate gesture. She even dared a couple of glances at Thranduil, smiling at him as well, as if her gesture could ease the frown on the Elf’s face. Lady L_ _í_ _m had a good heart, and a kind soul, indeed._

_Both Gimli and Legolas were well aware that they were, after all, extremely fortunate. It was unprecedented that a Dwarf and an Elf got married, as long as anyone knew, and yet their people had raised no objection to their union – actually, many dwellers of Aglarond and Ithilien openly supported them._

_It was also unprecedented that a Lord married another Lord, instead of a Lady._

_It wasn’t uncommon, nor prohibited at all, that some of the people of Middle Earth preferred people of their same gender instead of the opposite. Especially for Dwarves, who had the misfortune of being unmatched in number between males and females, of being very loyal, and of enjoying the pleasures of the flesh very much. Not the most convenient combination, had same-sex relationships not been common._

_But when it came to rulers, there was the question of succession, of bearing children that were to be in line for the throne. And yet, again, their people had made no fuss about the infertile match._

_At least it wasn’t unprecedented for an Elf to marry a mortal, which was one of the reasons why they were celebrating the union in Minas Tirith. The King and Queen of Gondor were their closest friends, and the ones who could understand them better than anyone else._

_It was time for the two to recite their vows, now. Gimli, who was supposed to go first, started to speak in Westron, given the circumstances. It was customary for Dwarves to speak exclusively Khuzdul during wedding ceremonies, but it had happened before to switch to the common tongue due to non-dwarven guests._

_“Legolas, son of Thranduil,”_

_He started, and more than one Dwarf scoffed at the reminder of exactly which Elven family Gimli was marrying into. Gimli only continued._

_“In front of our friends and family, and in front of any law, I bind myself to you today. But in front of you, I have long been yours, as you are mine. I told you my name, and nothing else could be a greatest evidence of the fact that we are family.”_

_At that, every Dwarf went silent. Inner names were one of the most sacred things among them. When a child was born, Mahal would speak to the parents in their dreams to tell them the unique name he had chosen. They would keep it for a decade, then the child would be told his inner name and he would start learning Khuzdul. If something were to happen to the parents ere that date, the Vala would pay a visit to the new care keepers._

_The only other person who would ever be allowed to know a Dwarf’s inner name was their One, the One whom they would spend their life with. The moment two Dwarves exchanged their inner names was the moment they were bound._

_A few minutes later, Gimli’s speech was over, and it was Legolas’ turn. He cleared his throat and parted his lips to speak._

_“Gimli, son of Glóin. I have no secret name to give you, and even-”_

_Then everything went black._

_Aragorn and the guests watched in surprise and, after a moment of shock, in horror as Gimli, Legolas and Thranduil collapsed at the exact same moment. Luckily, the people surrounding them were quick enough to grab them before any of the three could hit his head._

_They looked unconscious, but that wasn’t, perhaps, the best definition. The three felt very much awake when, after a moment of utter darkness, they found themselves standing in the middle of a green field, a white, warm light surrounding them._

_“What on Arda!”_

_Muttered Gimli, while the two Elves kept silent, trying to consider the situation before doing or saying anything. Legolas reached for Gimli’s shoulders and pulled him close as a figure advanced towards them._

_While Thranduil and his son tilted their head to the side as the figure approached, Gimli dropped on his knees. Not that he had ever seen him before, but he knew who was in front of him the moment he saw him._

_The towering, broad man was now standing in front of them, and both Legolas and his father finally realized. It was nothing like watching any Man. It felt… overwhelming. Comforting and frightening at the same time. They were facing a Vala, and Legolas dropped next to Gimli, his head low._

_Aulë had interrupted their wedding._

_Aulë had prevented him from pronouncing his vows to that child of his._

_The Elf felt his own body crashing on itself._

_They would be parted by a Vala himself. They had fought against prejudice and have won the blessing and acceptance of friends and family only to meet an irrevocable prohibition from the Valar._

_A quick glance at Gimli told him that the Dwarf had gotten to the same conclusion. He reached for him and held his hand, tight._

_Thranduil kneeled as well, respectful of the entity in front of him. He was not entirely surprised that such a union were to be nipped on the bud. And yet he found it rather- annoying?_

_Annoying, yes. It was unheard of, an Elf and a Dwarf. But his son was not the first Child of Il_ _ú_ _vatar to fall for a mortal. No Vala had stepped in between the sovereigns of Gondor, for instance. And to be fair, for how much the Elvenking didn’t find Dwarves to be of his liking, they were closer to the Elves that Men were- if not in looks, in spirit._

_They were not immortal like the Elves, but neither were they doomed to eternal death. They were the Adopted Children, they would walk the Earth again someday, alongside the Firstborn, the two races cooperating to build Arda anew. They were not subject to the diseases of Men._

_So technically, technically from the point of view of the Valar a union between Elf and Dwarf was better than one between Elf and Man. It was only logical, and Thranduil failed to see why his son had to endure such parting. Lady Arwen had been allowed to make her choice. And L_ _ú_ _thien, whose love had moved the Valar to the point that they granted new life to her Beren? They made her a mortal, as she pledged. Was Legolas going to be given the same gift, the same curse?_

_“Ease your minds, all of you. I am not here to force apart a couple, not unless you give me reason to do so. Stand up.”_

_They did, but none of them was able to make a sound._

_“Legolas.”_

_Said the Vala, and at that the Elf forced himself to speak._

_“Yes, my Lord.”_

_“You wish to wed this child of mine.”_

_“Yes, my Lord. Indeed.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Great Aulë, I love-”_

_“No, no, let me stop you. I can see that very well. What I mean to ask you, Firstborn, is why do you want to wed him if you are married to him already. For Elven customs, you have been wed for years. Gimli, my child, you told him you understood and recognized that Elven bound as if it was your own, am I mistaken?”_

_“You are not, Greatest of Lords.”_

_“Then why, Legolas?”_

_“As Gimli accepted and recognized the commitment we made in the ways of my people, I find it fair and I deeply wish to take such commitment in the way of his people, too.”_

_“To marry is to give the gift of your True Name, for a Dwarf. Gimli has given you his. Can you give him anything of the same value?”_

_Legolas didn’t answer immediately. He was well aware of how sacred that matter was. Before telling him his inner name, Gimli had spent an entire night despairing that they could not properly exchange names._

_The Dwarf had explained the full meaning of inner names. He told Legolas of how important it was for a Dwarf, he told him what it meant to trust one’s love enough to give them your name, to have that trust returned. He added that the inner name was believed to be the only way to always find your significant other. Be it in the Halls of Mahal or when Arda would be made anew, a Dwarf would always find his Love, even if they were to look different or if their memories were to be lost. The inner name would always be there, unique to any Dwarf, and never forgotten._

_“I cannot, my Lord. All I can give him, and that I give happily, is my eternal love and loyalty. And the promise that one day, if he cannot find me, I will find him.”_

_The Vala nodded slowly, then took what sounded like a deep sigh._

_“Eternity is a long time for an Elf, and to devote it to a mortal is quite a gift, indeed. I recognize its value. And yet, my child is doomed. He will wander Arda, someday, longing for someone he cannot name. He will be nothing like the unwed, who have never given their name to any and will not long to find their Ones. Neither will he be like the others, who will remember their Ones’ names and look for them. He will be lost and in despair until the day you find him, if you ever will. Gimli never told you this, did he?”_

_Legolas could almost feel his blood turn to ice. No, he had never been aware of that part. Neither had he ever even considered the possibility that he could never find Gimli._

_“And yet he gave you his name, and you have been cherishing it as if you fully understood the meaning of such a gesture. So grand is your love that you understand each other’s culture, while for centuries the differences between your races had led to mistrust and conflict?”_

_“So it seems, my Lord.”_

_“Very well. Look at me.”_

_Legolas raised his head, and again he felt overwhelmed by the mere sight of the Vala. Aulë returned his look, and after several moments he pronounced, loud and clear, a sentence both Elves recognized as Khuzdul, but only Gimli was able to translate. The Dwarf raised his head in a quick motion, then froze, in shock._

_“Repeat after me. All of you.”_

_Said the Valar, before pronouncing again one of the words from his previous sentence. Gimli barely managed to find the voice to comply. Thranduil and Legolas, confused the first, confused **and** worried about Gimli’s reaction the latter, repeated as faithfully as thousands of years of Sindarin accent allowed. _

_“It means ‘steadiest of trees’, and it’s your name. Never forget it and never share it with anyone other than your parents and espouse. Make it that I never regret the gift I gave today.”_

_They barely had the time to process the information, let alone thank the Vala properly. Everything went black for a moment again, and an instant later they were back, lying on the floor, surrounded by people and shouting._

_“It was one of you naugrim!”_

_“What good would it be for any Dwarf to poison them? What about the Elvenking’s second in command, indeed? Rather convenient for him, to get Eryn Lasgalen and Ithilien! And to leave Aglarond vulnerable!”_

_“How dare you? No Elf would ever do such. It’s your kind that tends to greed and madness!”_

_“Please, please! Enough! Not back to this, neither of the Lords would be happy!”_

_“Nara’s right. We don’t even know if they were poisoned, let the healers work, mellyn, no need to throw such accusations.”_

_“My boy! My boy!”_

_“Master Glóin, your son is well. Peace, my friends, you all. They’re waking up. Give them room.”_

_Thranduil was the first to collect himself enough to stand up, smoothing his vest and dismissing worried questions and pleas to see a healer with a single movement of the hand. He was actually rather fatigued by the experience, but he concealed it perfectly, as usual._

_“All is fine.”_

_He said, as Legolas and Gimli got to their feet as well, much less capable of hiding their shock._

_“My friends?”_

_“We’re fine, Aragorn. Forgive us for scaring you.”_

_Managed Legolas. He turned to his father, then to Gimli, who was still staring at him wordlessly, poor Master Glóin uselessly trying to shake him out of shock and get him to say a word._

_The Elf took his hands again._

_“Meleth. Shall we continue?”_

_At last, Gimli recovered as well. Slowly, a broad smile appeared on his face._

_“By all means.”_

“Have you lost your mind? You’re not supposed to share that name, ever!”

“Are your manners gone, Master Kori? I shall forget this slip. See that you reconsider your attitude.”

“My Lord,”

Said Kori, taking a deep breath.

“My Lord, that name is not something you can tell any Dwarf.”

“Master Dwarf. Kori. I fail to see how it is that you never thought about this before. I met you yesterday and I have no doubt already.”

“What are you talking about? My Lord.”

Thranduil looked around. One of the near trees had a low, large branch, to which he led the Dwarf to sit together.

“Your looks are alike Gimli’s, and your manners, your attitude, your voice. When I first met your eyes, yesterday, I-”

_I froze. I cursed Aulë for playing such a joke on me. I was almost scared._

“I was surprised. You master things that took him years to learn. Sindarin, Elven courtesy. You have his memories; you dream of that life so vividly that you often mistake it for your own.”

“I don’t! I know fully well how to separate dreams from reality.”

“That’s what your Grandfather taught you to believe, I suppose. Yet when you are allowed to speak of it, you often fail to speak in third person, and use the first without realizing.”

Kori shifted on the branch. Where was Thranduil trying to get to?

“And the inner names. Yesterday you didn’t tell me what Gimli’s name is in your dreams, but you did mention that it matches yours.”

“Indeed. It’s probably because I’m not allowed to know Lord Gimli’s true inner name.”

“And yet Legolas’ name was exactly the one you knew.”

Kori was now restless. He was only vaguely guessing what the King was trying to say, and he wasn’t sure at all about how he should feel.

“But that makes no sense. If Legolas’ name is correct…”

“Then Gimli’s correct, too.”

“No, no, no. My Lord, there’s no way to be sure. Who am I to be allowed such knowledge? It’s sacred. No Vala, no other superior entity would ever allow me to know names that are neither my own nor my family’s.”

“True.”

“Let alone having the same name as another Dwarf. That’s unconceivable. King Thranduil, to have Lord’s Gimli inner name, I’d have to be him!”

“Exactly my point.”

Kori froze at that.

Be him.

Be Gimli? All those memories that felt like they were from a second life- were indeed from a second life? Or perhaps from a first life would be a better way to put it. But no, no, how could he dare believe such a thing? How could he ever hope so?

“My Lord, that would be- absurd. Unheard of.”

“Unheard of? You must be jesting. What about Durin? Isn’t it said that he walked this Earth seven times, reincarnation after reincarnation? Are you not of the Line of Durin? Wasn’t Gimli as well?”

_“Isn’t it funny that I keep dreaming about Lord Gimli?”_

_“I would say annoying.”_

_“But- he was such a great hero!”_

_“Kori, you shouldn’t waste your time on such trivial legends.”_

_“Legends? That’s history! He was chosen by Lord Elrond to represent our kin.”_

_“Elves.”_

_“Yes, well, Lord Elrond did not think less of him for being a Dwarf. He was kind and brave enough to win the trust of anyone. Even the Elves.”_

_“That’s what they tell you. It’s convenient for everyone if realms and settlements all over middle-earth are in good terms. That’s why they started all this thing of the Elvellon, the Lockbeared, and Mahal forgive them, the Two Lords.”_

_“I don’t think so. I think Gimli had a great heart, kind enough to befriend and be befriended regardless of race. I would like to be like him, someday.”_

_“Don’t you say that. Don’t trust the Elves, and be weary of Men, as well.”_

_“I am a little like him already, I believe. I look like him, if the paintings resemble him well. Runi says that I should have been named after him, because he thinks I’m his reincarnation, just like Durin’s-”_

_“FAIRY TALES!”_

_Shouted Turi, slamming his hand on the table._

_“I tell you what you must focus on. Study. Work. Family. And that’s it. You are just a young, silly Dwarf. Do your best to become a respectable adult one.”_

“Fairy tales!”

Shouted Kori, his arm twitching as if to imitate Turi’s harsh gesture. But Thranduil knew better than that. He hadn’t lived thousands of years for nothing.

“It must have been frustrating. Raised by someone who could never understand, who would not even listen to you, who forced you into doubting the obvious.”

The night was warm. Kori was trembling hard.

“I would show you the papers in my library that I read just this morning, to convince you of the plausibility of Durin’s reincarnations. But there’s no need. You always knew who you are. You’ve been shaped into fitting what others wanted you to be, but you knew all along.”

“It cannot be, King Thranduil.”

“It is. I have no doubts, and neither do you. Overcome that fear that was instilled in you and embrace the fact that you are Gimli, son of Glóin, no less than you are Kori, grandson of Turi.”

“And what do I do with that, o Elvenking?”

Asked Kori in a whisper.

“Let us assume, King Thranduil, that you are right.”

“I am.”

“Fine. You are, indeed. You’re right. I’m Lord Gimli. Gimli. Now what? I have nothing but memories from that life. I can’t even talk to anyone about any of it. You are the sole exception, and you will depart from this side of the sea soon. I will be alone with this knowledge, missing people I’m not supposed to know. Friends and family. Legolas. Legolas! I cannot live with the knowledge that this longing, this sorrow, are my own and not the projection of someone else’s.”

“You’re thinking of staying in Erebor?”

“I could move to Aglarond, perhaps.”

“Master Kori.”

“But could I stand the memories? In Ithilien there must be some who still remembers me. I suppose that it would be easier if I could convince old friends of who I am.”

“Kori.”

“Eldarion is still alive, and his sisters live in Gondor. I could go there. They would recognize me, perhaps.”

“ _Gimli!_ ”

The Dwarf turned to look at the Elvenking. It sounded so… not wrong, to be called like that.

“My Lord?”

“End this nonsense. Can’t you remember what you told me on our last meeting before your departure? ‘Wherever he goes, I go’. I count on that statement.”

“Wait, are you saying…?”

“Indeed. I’m taking you to Valinor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the core of the fic. The real deal.The reunion. The moment Gimli arrives in Valinor and lives happily ever after with Legolas without any problem.   
> ...or does he? 
> 
> As always, let me know if you notice something wrong with my English. I'm no native speaker and I would appreciate hints and corrections when needed!
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter as well. Did you guess about Legolas having a name? What do you expect from the next chapters?


	5. I know what you'll do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second-to-last chapter is here! I hope you'll enjoy it.

_It was late afternoon when Glóin heard a knock on the door of his modest house under the Mountain._

_“I’ll get it.”_

_He said to his wife, who gave him a grateful smile. Her joints barely let her sleep at night, and he would spare her any unnecessary effort. He smiled back, softly caressed the back of her hand as he walked past her, and slowly walked towards the door._

_Another knock._

_“Aye, a mo’!”_

_He shouted, half annoyed, half very much into his role of grumpy, old Dwarf._

_He liked playing that part. He never fooled anyone, however, much to his surprise._

_“If it’s Dwalin again, I’ll shut him out for good. I’ve told him a thousand times; I’ve already returned him his goddamn hammer.”_

_He muttered. Lím only shot a glance at the brand-new hammer her husband had bought for Dwalin and chuckled softly._

_As soon as Glóin opened the door, the widest of smiles lit up his wrinkled face, somewhere behind the thick, white beard. Gimli and Legolas were standing right in front of him. Clad in their travelling clothes, only the circlets on their heads revealed their status of Lords. The old couple wasn’t expecting them, nor had King Thorin summoned them, as much as Glóin knew, but the surprise only made it better._

_He turned to his wife in pure delight._

_“Lím! The kids are home!”_

_He shouted, and at that, Legolas smiled helplessly. They had become “the kids” several years before, and that house “home”, and it never failed to fill his heart with a surge of affection towards the couple of elder Dwarves he now cared about as if they were his own father and mother._

_“Forgive us, we sent no word of our arrival.”_

_Said the Elf after many warm greetings and forehead-to-forehead hugs._

_“We did not plan to come here”, explained Gimli, “but we had some business in Dale that was dealt with much faster than we believed. We are not expected back to Ithilien until a week.”_

_“We thought it would be nice to visit, if it does not bother you to have us here for a few days.”_

_“Aha! Bother us! We couldn’t be happier, lads. Sit with your mother, I shall make some dinner and refresh your room a bit.”_

_Gimli opened his bag and produced a package, which he handed to his father._

_“Cheese and wine from Dale, and fresh bread we got from Tarin on our way here. I can make the bed and open the window, no need to fuss, da’. Sit with us.”_

_“Such thoughtful boys.”_

_Smiled Lím. There was something in her face, in the way she moved, a sort of weariness that somehow made both Legolas and Gimli glad of their decision to spend some time in Erebor._

_The Elven Prince knew he would have to deal with mortality. He had known that since the very beginning of his days with Gimli. But how could he imagine, back then, that he would grow so fond of his husband’s family? And yet now he wondered how he could ever have doubted such affection. The idea of losing them was terrifying, their fast decline unrelenting, and it was something he had no idea how to handle. Violent deaths were indeed a tragedy, yet something not even Elves were safe from, and he was somehow more familiar with that idea. The very concept of aging to death was something he failed to grasp, and for the first time he was experiencing it. It was horrifying._

_In the end, they spent a fortnight in Erebor._

_\---_

_After Lím’s death, Gimli cried himself to sleep in his husband’s arms. Legolas waited for him to be fast asleep and wept through the night._

_When Glóin followed her less than a year later, they wept together._

_\---_

_“Thank you.”_

_Said Gimli as they left Erebor for the last time._

_“Believe me, Meleth, there is no reason to thank me. I could not have sailed before visiting them.”_

_“They are glad we said goodbye.”_

_Whispered the Dwarf. Legolas put a harm around his shoulders and held him tight._

_“I am sure they are.”_

Kori cried in silence before the two tombs. He would have to say goodbye once again. The Elves would leave with the return of the warm season, and he with them.

How could it be, that the winter seemed both endless and too short?

\---

“I should like to visit Gimli, this afternoon.”

Legolas announced between a sip of tea and another. Silence fell upon the company that had assembled that morning to break their fast together. He had started to dwell often among the other Elves, which was source of great relief for the former Lords and Ladies of Imladris and Lothlórien. They regarded him as a child of their own, for a multitude of reasons: still young and with a good heart, he was a loyal friend to them and so had been to Aragorn and their Arwen. To see that he was healing gave them joy. To hear that he was going to face the very source of his pain concerned them deeply.

“Forgive my plainness, Legolas, but I fear it might not be a good idea. You are getting better, would you put it at risk now?”

“Your concern warms my heart, Lord Celeborn, but I have delayed too long already. Indeed, I shall not leave my husband’s tomb unattended on Durin’s Day.”

Polite, yet firm. Legolas could be the rightful son to his father, when he tried.

“Durin’s Day! How could I forget.”

Lord Elrond poured a few drops of honey over a piece of bread as he considered.

“Would you care for company?”

“I would not stop you if you wish to pay Gimli a visit. Yet, since you ask, I would rather go by myself today.”

It was no Elven custom to mourn the dead in front of cold stone. After Gimli’s burial, seldom had the others visited his sepulchre, and he knew they meant no disrespect. Elves mourned in their heart, in memory, and not near buried corpses. Bodies meant nothing, when the _F_ _ë_ _a_ was gone. If Lord Elrond wished to accompany him, it was on account of Legolas’ own welfare, and naught else.

Legolas was an Elf. And yet he had been uncapable of leaving Gimli’s side for months after his death. He would spend days in silence, sitting on the ground, his back against the tombstone, or curled up near the entrance.

Legolas was an Elf that had married a mortal. Arwen was alike. And yet she had left her own children to go and grieve alone among the threes of Lothlórien, far from her husband’s tomb. Legolas had taken care of _his_ husband’s tomb with ongoing dedication for decades. Even after the first months of blind desperation, even when his _Fëa_ no longer fought to part from his _Hröa,_ he would visit daily, speak to him.

Legolas was an Elf that had married a mortal, a Dwarf, and had received an Inner name. He had crossed some sort of line, and some said he was no longer Elf. They were wrong. Elf, he was, and yet some part of him was Dwarf enough for him to take comfort in speaking to the stone. Perhaps Gimli could hear him from Aulë’s halls? Would the Valar give them at least that, since they could not dwell together in death or immortality?

Oh, but they had been granted much. They had been allowed to be wed, to love each other, to hope that they would find each other again, someday. How could he be so ungrateful? Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why Gimli could not stay, nor could he follow.

A stone to speak to was all he had, and that he would take.

And yet, for months now, something had been different. That feeling of anticipation, the longing to walk on the shore, the wish to dwell with his kin once again- it all had robbed him of his time, and his visits had been less frequent.

Not that he did not think of Gimli almost constantly. He was with him always, in his heart, in his mind. Perhaps Elrond was correct: there was no need to feel guilty. Gimli would not wish to know his husband lost in the void he left in his heart. However, that did not mean that he could ever forget him. Even if the day would ever come (Legolas was rather sure it would not) when he would feel no more the wish to visit the tomb, and only mourn in his heart as Elves do, he would still go, out of respect for Dwarven customs.

But again, that day would not come. He could not stay long without talking to the familiar slab of stone, without smiling as if it could smile back, without kindly caressing the rim with his pale fingers, hoping that somehow, somewhere, he could hear him, feel him.

And so, that afternoon, he went to see Gimli for the first time in several days.

And as he walked in, a soft singing reached his ears.

_“…The world is grey, the mountains old,_

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_

_The darkness dwells in_ [ _Durin_ ](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Durin) _'s halls;_

_The_ [ _shadow_ ](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Durin%27s_Bane) _lies upon his tomb_

_In_ [ _Moria_ ](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Moria) _, in_ [ _Khazad-dûm_ ](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Moria) _._

_But still the sunken stars appear_

_In dark and windless_ [ _Mirrormere_ ](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Mirrormere) _;_

_There lies his crown in water deep,_

_Till_ [ _Durin_ ](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Durin) _wakes again from sleep.”_

“Mithrandir.”

Called Legolas as soon as the old Wizard had finished the song. Gandalf turned to see the Elf standing at the entrance.

“Ah, Legolas. Do you wish me to leave you alone?”

“Not at all.”

Smiled Legolas, approaching the Wizard. Gimli would have appreciated that gesture. Mithrandir was, perhaps, the only other living being in Valinor to fully understand Dwarven customs and the meaning of Durin’s Day.

“How do you fare, my friend?”

Asked Gandalf, a hand over Legolas’ shoulder as a sign of affection.

“Well. I fare well, thank you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see that. I was surprised not to find you here.”

Legolas frowned a little, but the Wizard only shook his head, smiling.

“No, no, do not get my words for what they are not. I said that I was surprised, not that I blame you. Or is it you, the one that blames yourself?”

“I try not to.”

“Would you care to tell me more?”

And Legolas did. He told him what he told Lord Elrond, he told him of the last months, the last weeks, but unlike the Elf Lord, Gandalf was much surprised by such changings.

“I find what you tell me almost unbelievable. Such a change of attitude and of heart, and so sudden.”

“My heart has not changed.”

Protested Legolas, almost affronted.

“I love Gimli no less than-”

“Would you stop hearing things I never said? Your heart was wounded so deeply that it couldn’t bear your grief unless aided by sturdy stone. That it has suddenly found the strength to keep you on your feet is a marvel. And never in my long life have I heard of an Elf longing for the shore from this side of the Sea. Do you wish to sail?”

“No, no. I have no desire to leave. It feels as if there is something to await. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel believe I might be sensing my father’s arrival.”

“Uhm. Perhaps.”

“You don’t seem convinced.”

“Indeed, I am not. But I am glad to see that you are well, and for now I will rejoice in that without inquiring. Let us celebrate Durin’s Day.”

\---

"What do you mean, you ain't coming?"

Turi's eyes darted from his grandson to King Thranduil and back. Kori's second visit to Eryn Lasgalen had been not much different from the first: he had spent a lot of time with the Elvenking, and some with other Elves as well- Galion, for instance, and a couple more whose names the Dwarf had never bothered learning. He could swear to have heard his grandson speaking to them in Sindarin at least a couple of times. He didn't trust that folk, but to be fair, it could be very profitable that they liked Kori so much.

Yet, what was that now? Kori not coming back Erebor with them?

He shook his head, arms crossed, and planted his feet on the ground.

"I forbid this. You're very young and I'm responsible for you. I shall not leave you behind now. Perhaps in a few years, if Ethuilion will agree, you might spend time here. Learn something. It might be good for your future, since you are going to take my place, but there is plenty of time for that."

“Time is the very thing mortals should know better than to waste. However, Master Turi, you misunderstand. Master Kori is following me and my people to Valinor, a week from now.”

The younger Dwarf rolled his eyes and could not help shooting an upset glance at the Elvenking. Did he have to be so blunt?

“Say, what? If it’s a jest, it’s not of my liking.”

“No jest, grandpa. I will explain my motives, for I have many, and much valid, for this choice. But the core of it all is that I am, indeed, sailing. Believe me, it is for the best.”

Turi’s face was _crimson._ He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, took a deep breath, and turned directly to the Elvenking.

“What have you told him? What have you done to my grandson?”

“Measure your words very carefully, Master Dwarf.”

“Does it run in the family, mh? Have you some perverted fascination for young Dwarves, like that son of yours? My grandson is no concubine.”

If Turi lacked any skills, words measuring was clearly one. Thranduil fixated his narrowed eyes on him, a stare that could freeze any living creature in a moment.

“Speak ill of my son one more time, dare to suggest once more that either him or I have such _perversions_ , and I promise you that you shall never be allowed within this Realm again. Insist in your stubbornness even further, and my dungeons will host a Dwarf for the first time since the day Thorin Oakenshield and his company escaped them.”

Turi made to speak again, but Kori interrupted him before he could make his situation even worse.

“Grandpa, peace. If you don’t care about the consequences of insulting a King such, at least do not underestimate me. Do you believe I would let someone ensnare me to the point that I would leave everything behind? Just listen to what I have to tell you.”

“And what is it? That you are some sort of second incarnation of Gimli of Aglarond?”

The young Dwarf fell silent. Unable to speak, he could only stare at his grandfather, slowly becoming aware. He knew. How long had he known? When had he guessed?

“Even if you were, what good is it for you? Nothing is left of those days. You need to live your own life, that’s what’s important now. I hoped you would understand that, now that the Elvenking is leaving. I never expected you to _follow him_!”

“Legolas is there! HE is left from those days, HE is what is important, now and forever!”

“Why? Because you followed him and spent a few years in that accursed place in some preceding life, or visions, or whatever it is that affects you? The Elven Prince has had his fun with- no, let’s have it your way. Let’s say he _loved_ Lord Gimli. Well, Gimli was of very old age when they left. He founded and ran Aglarond for a century, before leaving! You have your entire life in front of you, what are you gonna do, among trees and Elves?”

“I am convinced that your grandson shall not be bored. And I believe he is old enough to decide, and not under your responsibility, as you claim.”

“Easy for you to speak such, Thranduil.”

“ _King_ Thranduil. ‘My Lord’, if you prefer.”

“I am the one losing my grandson! You shall take to your son a nice substitute for his husband, earn his gratitude, and live happily ever after with your family. Quite convenient.”

“Let me correct you. I am taking no substitute to my son. I am taking _his husband_. Secondly, if your grandson comes with me now, my time with my own son is doomed to end soon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me, Elvenking.”

Both Thranduil and Turi turned to Kori, and the King only nodded. Looking upon the Dwarf was enough to see that he had become fully aware of his own self. He was no longer the nervous, young Dwarf that had visited Eryn Lasgalen months before. He was as firm and confident as a Dwarf Lord, he displayed the mindfulness of one who had faced the Evil of this world, confronted it and lived to tell. He was Gimli, with the added value of his years as Kori, and had fully embraced that status. Indeed, Thranduil wondered why he was even there to assist him. He needed no aid.

“I am still a mortal. I can spend a century with Legolas, or two, then I am going to die, as any Dwarf. Since I was reborn once, why should it not occur again? Another Dwarf will be born on this side of the sea. Another incarnation, and if Legolas today cannot suspect that I exist, he will know then. Do you believe he will dwell in Valinor, knowing that I am here, somewhere, without anyone to take me to him? No. He will find me. Neither the King nor I have any doubt. He will leave, and there is no telling whether he will ever set sail again.”

“Do you even hear what you say? Rebirth, Elves sailing back to this side of the sea. Speculations, I say. Assumptions. You can have stability here. A proper Dwarven life. You will settle down, marry a Dwarven lady, have children!”

“I believed you had understood. I am married.”

Kori took a step ahead. He planted his feet on the ground, standing right in front of his grandfather.

“My marriage was blessed by Mahal himself, and that is a fact. He gave my husband a Name for a reason much more grand than what we believed, and I am now aware of that. I am meant to find my husband, and he to find me, again and again, two, three, one hundred or one thousand times before Arda is made anew. And we shall never fail, for our Names and our souls are bonded for eternity. That was the wish of Mahal, our Maker, and neither you nor others will stand His way. Or perhaps you claim to be wiser than the Vala who made our Fathers?”

Turi remained silent. He could not answer.

“Then you understand that this is beyond discussion. I shall sail.”

Then, his tone softer, he added:

“Grandpa, this is goodbye. I would not part from you in such ill terms. Let us-”

“Do as you please, but do not expect me to indulge your ingratitude.”

Kori froze, but it lasted a moment. He nodded, slowly, deliberately.

“If you change your mind, we will sail six days from today, where the Path of the Elves meets the Anduin.”

Turi was already leaving. Neither Thranduil nor Kori spoke of the matter again.

\---

“Do you need help with anything, Lord Gimli?”

Kori looked up at the Elven maid. They smiled.

“Iavasiel. My thanks, but I believe I don’t.”

The Elves that were to sail had been all informed of the… peculiar situation. Despite the initial surprise, they had all accepted the idea rather quickly, and most of them rejoiced in the fact that he would sail with them. Not that they all cared for him (let alone for Dwarves in general) that much, but for Legolas… Kori had often wondered whether another prince had ever been so loved by his people. It was not surprising that the idea of him being relieved from his grief was enough to make them _enthusiast_ to have even a Dwarf on board.

However, Gimli had made some actual good friends, back then. Iavasiel was one of them, and the earnest delight in her eyes when she was told the truth had plainly moved Kori.

“Let us get aboard, then. Everything is settled, and the King is awaiting.”

The Dwarf nodded, smiling again, but as he followed her, he could not help turning back several times.

“My Lord, if you have any doubts, perhaps it would be better to say so now.”

“Nay, my friend, fret not. I don’t have any, indeed. I hoped to see someone, but…”

He shrugged.

It hurt more than he wanted to admit, but it was clear that his grandfather did not care. He had raised him, taught him everything he could -as little as it was. They were _family._ He was Kori, no less than he was Gimli. The Elves preferred to call him as the Dwarf Lord they used to know, which was fine. But Kori did exist. When he would skin his knee as a child, Turi would be there to take care of it. He had always been there. Even his attempts to keep him from his true self were well-intentioned, from his narrow-minded point of view. He believed that Kori would be happier living the life of any normal Dwarf.

How could he truly wish for them to part like that?

No farewell, no holding him one last time. Their last words spoken in disagreement and dismay.

“Apologies. To sail is such an innate need for us that we forget how much you are willingly leaving behind. You are as brave as you used to be.”

They were on the deck now, and there they remained several minutes, not far from the King.

Thranduil, hands holding onto the railing, was contemplating the land. He could see the Path of the Elves, he could see the Forest. His Forest.

It had no appeal to him, not anymore. He had done his part on that side of the sea. He knew now why he had delayed for so long, why for decades he had procrastinated in a world in which he could no longer fit. The Dwarf was meant to be on that ship, and now that he was, the Elvenking could _at last_ rest.

He saw it before he could hear it.

A figure was approaching, still rather far, but clearly directed towards them. No one had remained behind. Was it possible that someone had decided to sail at the very last moment? But no, no Elf would ever take such a decision in haste. And besides, he realized as the figure approached more, that was no Elf. It was a- oh.

_Oh._

No. No, not now. Now that everything was as it should, now that _Gimli_ was on board, he would not let him get back on land. What if he started having doubts? What if the old _Naug_ convinced him to stay?

He would not risk so much. They were ready to leave, he would call Kori to the railing once the ship had left the shore. They could wave goodbye or shout or whatever they wished, but there was no disembarking now.

The gangplank was withdrawn. The ship set sails.

He could hear him now.

‘ _Kori!’_

He cannot hear you. Leave him alone.

_‘Kori, please! Don’t go!’_

Don’t go? He did mean to convince him not to leave, then. Oh, it was too late for that. They were leaving the shore, farther every moment. It was safe to inform the Dwarf now. He would be glad to know that his grandfather had not forsaken him completely.

_‘Stay! Kori, stay!’_

Not that they were so very far, to be fair. He could not stop the Dwarf from, say, take a lifeboat, or even swim his way to the shore. He remembered very clearly the day Legolas decided to teach Gimli how to swim, after he had almost drowned in the Anduin.

You do not forget waking up in the morning and witnessing from the window a naked Dwarf swimming with your naked son in the stream, _thank you._

He noticed Iavasiel raising her head. She could hear it as well, now. He locked his eyes with hers and very deliberately shook his head.

_No._

She was taken aback. ‘No?’, her eyes asked.

He raised a finger to his lips.

_Not a word._

Understanding. Nodding. Judging?

She gave him an almost reprimanding glance. Judging.

The voice was louder now.

_‘Kori, I beg you! Come back! My son!’_

Desperation. Loss. Guilt.

Gimli… Kori would hear, soon. His grandfather was approaching fast.

He would hear.

‘ _KORI!’_

“Kori?”

“Yes, King Thranduil?”

“It will get colder, soon. Let us move below deck.”

He ignored Iavasiel’s tight-lipped mouth. He had done worse in his life. Gimli would never know, and it would never hurt.

\---

Journeying on a ship and having privacy or personal space were two concepts that did not go too well together. Two months after their departure, the Elves had spent more time with their mortal guest than they ever did when he was Lord of Aglarond. They were almost at their destination and even those who initially cared little for the Dwarf had become fond of him.

It had always been like that, with Gimli.

One could get off on the wrong foot with him, but given a chance, he would win any’s heart and let them in his. The first time he met Eómer they were ready to kill each other; three days later they were riding together in battle as friends. Not to mention the Elves of Lothlórien: he entered the Wood blindfold and upset. When he left, his heart ached at the parting.

Last but not the least, there was Legolas. To think how little they trusted each other, how much they underestimated each other when they left Imladris, and then…

One could not get to know that Dwarf and not grow fond of him, be his name Gimli or Kori or another. Which was why, not far from the end of the journey, one day that the sea was not the calmest, a couple of Elves rushed into the King’s cabin _without even knocking._

“What on this world-”

He stopped short.

They were pale, their fair features distorted in… fear? Concern? He put down his book and got up from the chair, a terrible feeling scratching at the back of his spine.

“What happened?”

“Lord Gimli hit his head.”

Whispered Iavasiel.

“He is unconscious, my Lord, and the wound seem severe.”

Added the other.

“Take me to him. Immediately.”

Demanded Thranduil, and he did not stop to ask himself whether the dreadful feeling that made his stomach twist was due to his affection for Legolas or for the Dwarf himself.

\---

Thranduil was a rather good healer. The most experienced on the ship, that was out of question, and yet the Dwarf seemed to get worse every hour.

“Why did you have to be a mortal?”

He asked him, four days after the incident.

There was, obviously, no answer.

Gimli had never been fully conscious since he was injured. The few times he had been half-awake, he vomited and trembled almost restlessly.

“Why did you _have_ to be a _Dwarf_?”

He would know what to do with an Elf in those conditions. Elves healed faster and better. They were more responsive to treatments that apparently did not work on Gimli. No one on the ship had ever dealt with mortal injuries, and even trying to open the wound to check whether it was infected, to look for possible blood clots was a huge risk. How could he know how much to cut without risking? Surely the Dwarf could not undergo treatments as invasive as an Elf could- but to know what he could _not_ do was of no use. The King needed to know what he _could_ do. And he had no way to find out.

At least they were almost there, now.

They could see the shore, his people informed him.

They would find someone there who had experience with healing mortals, at least one, among all the Elves that had left over more than three ages.

“See that you make it, Dwarf. Don’t you dare die now, not in Legolas’ presence _again_. You are not allowed for at least two more centuries, do you hear me?”

His voice went from thunderous threat to soft whisper in a matter of seconds.

“In the name of the Valar, don’t.”

_See. That’s what happen when you get attached to mortals. Alas for…_

\---

They were correct.

He did sense his father’s arrival. The ship had been seen approaching two days before, and it was now landing, at last.

Many had gathered to greet the Elves from Eryn Lasgalen. Reunions and good company were in store, and Legolas could no longer wait. He tried to hide his impatience, but he felt like a child, awaiting some great surprise he somehow knew about. Lord Elrond, next to him, smiled softly.

“I haven’t seen you so enthusiast since a time so far that I even fail to remember it.”

“I missed my father and my people more than I realized. Not that I ever was without friends, or family, here.”

“Of course.”

At last, _at last_. Of all, ironically, his father was the one who could understand. In the end, he always did.

And when their eyes finally met, Legolas’ heart _sank_.

So very rarely had Legolas seen that look. Frozen, he stared at his father as he approached, as he took his hands, but no words of greeting were spoken, no fond smile was smiled.

“What ails you so?”

Was all Legolas said.

“I need a good healer on the ship.”

The younger Elf tilted his head a little to the side, frowning.

“You are a good healer, Adar.”

It was then that Thranduil turned to Elrond, who had undoubtedly heard, despite having remained respectfully at a distance from them. He fixated his eyes in those of the Half-elven, he gave him a look that meant only one thing: _I shall not accept a ‘no’ as an answer._

“I need a good healer experienced with mortals.”

He corrected himself.

“Is there a mortal on the ship?”

Asked Legolas, and Thranduil’s throat went dry. He chose not to answer.

“Lord Elrond. It is life or death.”

“King Thranduil, does it not occur to you that you should not have taken a mortal here so lightly? Perhaps the Valar-”

“First.”

He left Legolas’ hands and walked towards Elrond.

“Do not assume I took him here lightly. Second. I have very good reasons to believe that the Valar meant for him to come. And third. Either you help him, _now_ , or you let who I believe you consider an old friend die ere time. What will you choose?”

“An old friend? How is that possible?”

“Elrond.”

“Very well. Lead the way.”

He wasted no more time, not even to stop Legolas from following them. He had considered hiding the Dwarf from him until assured of his recovery, but no matter how he looked at it, it would not end well.

He led them on board in silence. If the Dwarf died, he could not simply bury it somewhere like an animal and pretend he was never there. It would spare Legolas the pain, but how could he let him know that Gimli _could_ reincarnate, then?

Moreover, about two dozen of Elves knew. They could never hide it from Legolas. They were already revealing something as the three walked on the deck, as they proceeded towards the cabins. Elves who had grown up with Legolas and Elves who had seen him grow up, none of them greeted their beloved Prince. They shot him sad glances and tilted down their heads as he walked past.

_He is not dead yet._

“Thranduil, I assume the condition of the mortal are rather serious.”

“I fear so.”

“I need you to be aware that I can make no promises. The last mortal I assisted was Lord Gimli, many a decade ere today.”

“Very well.”

Said Thranduil, as he opened the door of a cabin and led them in.

“He will also be the next one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here we go. I am so excited to write the last chapter! Soooo much H/C is going on <3  
> Let me know what you think so far, or if there's anything wrong with my English, as usual.  
> To next week with the ending!


	6. The way you did...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __  
> “ [...]And now, after more than sixty years, I get the chance to see him die a painful death that will relieve him of dreadful, deliriant suffering. I get the chance to bury him again!.”  
> 
> 
> Or will he? I did promise a happy ending, didn't I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many thanks and apologies to deliver- but I will in the End Notes! After the months-long hiatus I'll leave you to the chapter right away. Enjoy!

_ Voices. _

_ “What-” _

_ “What…?! Who…?” _

_ “Go ahead, Elrond, I shall explain while you visit him.” _

_ “First, tell me what happened and what are his symptoms. Then, yes, I beg of you to explain.” _

_ “Very well.” _

_ “ADAR?” _

_ “Later, Legolas. A minute.” _

_ Voices. Then, again, only darkness.  _

\---

He felt as if his entire body was being gradually, slowly unwrapped from some thick blanket. He sensed light through his closed eyelids and automatically braced himself for the wave of nausea that would hit him whenever he was awake but, much to his surprise, his stomach did not turn this time. 

Next to strike him was the headache. It was no less painful than before, yet somehow different. 

Could he try to open his eyes? But no, he would not risk it. It would take so much energy, and light might increase the headache, the nausea might come back. 

He took a deep breath, and it was then that he realized. As his chest expanded, he felt it. Something – rope? A belt? – around his torso. 

He did open his eyes at that, and quickly. Light hit him for a few moments, as he had predicted, but he gritted his teeth and waited patiently. 

Where was he?

That was not the cabin he vaguely remembered from the past few days, yet the room was somehow familiar. 

He tried to move, soon realizing that he simply could not. Not only his torso, but his wrists were tied to the bed, as well. Not tight enough to hurt, yet not loose enough for him to get free. He could not even have a good look at it, for something rigid around his neck prevented him from moving his head. 

With all his might he tried to remain calm, to remember something from the past days, to think straight- but in the end, he was overwhelmed by weariness and confusion, to the point that he began to panic. 

He started tugging at the ropes, trying to break them, pointing his heels against the mattress for a better chance of success- but he lacked the strength. After some useless squirming, his limbs fell back against the bed. He closed his eyes again as the light started to become unbearable, and a single sigh of frustration escaped his chest. 

He did not hear the light steps approaching, lost as he was in his fear. He felt, however, long, cool fingers gently touching his cheeks, warmed by his efforts to get up. It almost made him shiver, and with great effort he managed to open his eyes again, just enough to let some light and colours reach him. 

A cascade of long, golden hair framed what looked like an elven face- at least judging from the two pointy spots of pale, flesh-like colour at the sides.

Thranduil? He vaguely remembered the Elvenking at his bedside, insistently trying to… heal him, probably.

The fingers on the left side of his head moved slightly upward, a soft caress against his temple, and the blurred face came closer.

Not Thranduil.

“Are you awake?”

Legolas. 

So softly had he spoken, yet the Dwarf could not mistake that voice for the world. Once again, he opened his eyes wide, careless of the headache worsening as the merciless light hit him. 

His lungs and throat felt as if they were on fire as he weakly whispered his name. He had spent months wondering what to say to him, even rehearsing a speech, but now none of it came to mind, nor he would have had the strength to perform it, in any case.

“Legolas.”

His own voice sounded unfamiliar. A faint chirp, low, tired. He feebly tugged at the strings holding his arms once more in a silent plea. The Elf suddenly shifted his fingers to the Dwarf’s hands, which he held firmly as he shook his head. 

“Please, don’t move. For the love of the Valar, don’t move.”

The Dwarf stared at him, puzzled. Would Legolas not untie him?

“Can you hear me?” insisted the Elf, sudden concern transpiring from his alarmed tone of voice.

“Ay.”

“Do you understand what I’m asking you?”

“…ay.”

Legolas let out a deep, relieved sigh. The Dwarf was, if anything, more confused than before. He tried to move his wrist a little against the elven hand, but it was to no avail. Panic sneaked in once more, the feeling of his chest being crushed by an invisible weight upon it forcing him to breathe faster. 

“Of course, I understand,” said the Elf, accommodating. With little circular movements of his thumbs, he slowly caressed the pair of calloused hands he was still holding as he explained. “Just not yet. You must not move, for your own well-being. I shall leave you for a while- just a little while, to seek Lord Elrond. Can you promise me to remain calm and be still until I get him here?” 

The Dwarf’s attempt at speaking again failed miserably. He took a long, deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to relax as much as he could.

“I shall take that as a yes,”

he heard the Elf say. Then, unforeseen, soft as feathers, Legolas’ lips placed a kiss on his cheek. In the time of the beat that the dwarven heart skipped, the Elf was gone. 

Remain calm, he had said. Be still. 

Easier said than done. 

For a warrior who had spent many a night with his axe ready at hand, to be tied thus meant feeling unnaturally vulnerable, to the point that his entire body ached to try and break the bindings. Yet Legolas had asked him not to move, and to be fair, any attempt to set his wrists free would have failed, weak as he was. 

Waiting was, apparently, the only thing he could do. And that he did. 

He tried to assess the situation, but the last thing he could remember clearly was walking on the deck of a ship- Thranduil’s ship, heading to Valinor. 

After that, he had only blurred memories and sensations. Pain, fear, nausea. 

Elves fussing around him?

Something tremendously bitter being given to him- more nausea. More pain, unbearable. 

None of that was of any use in order to calm down, indeed. He tried to think of Legolas instead.

His skin warmed up at the reminder of the touch of his fingers, of the swift brushing of his lips against his cheek. It struck him then that, surely, Legolas knew. It was not far-fetched to think that the Elvenking had explained everything to his son already and, despite regretting that he would never see the surprise in Legolas’ face- or shock, or his reaction at all-, he was glad that he needed not to give explanations at that moment. The idea of going through such a complicated conversation was preposterous, given that he had just failed at producing more than five syllables. 

Indeed, he was so exhausted that he soon started to drift into a deep slumber, only to jerk awake when he heard two sets of footsteps heading into the room. 

“ _ Iorellon,” _ said a voice, as kind and cadenced as he remembered it. 

“L… Lo…”

He tried to salute him, courteous as ever, but Elrond raised his palm as he approached.

“Speak not, my friend, unless asked. Legolas tells me you are lucid enough to comprehend what you are told. Yet, I can see that you are weary, so I shall leave explanations to a latter moment and briefly visit you, ere I let you sleep again.”

“Mhm,” answered the Dwarf, unable to be more articulate- and forbidden from doing so, in any case. He obediently followed Elrond’s instructions as he asked him to make small movements- lift a finger, swing his left foot, bend his right knee a little. After that, he moaned short answers to few, simple questions. It was as brief as promised, and at the end the Elven Lord seemed rather satisfied. 

“Very promising, indeed,” he whispered, respectful of the terrible headache that affected his patient. He turned to Legolas, who had been standing next to him apprehensively the entire time, and handed him a few glass vials. 

“His body is responsive, and he seems lucid, if a bit exhausted. These will relieve the pain and help him sleep peacefully. That he awoke so soon and in such a good state is beyond my most daring expectations. You already know what to do now, but if you have any doubt, do not hesitate to ask me. I shall come daily to keep track of his improvements, in any case.”

The Dwarf barely registered the instructions as exhaustion washed over him again. The pain was not gone, he was still tied to the bed, and no explanation had been given to him. 

Yet, he felt safe. 

He slept.

\---

Legolas sat silently on the armchair next to the bed, looking intently at the resting Dwarf. 

The Elf was  _ torn _ . 

The more he looked at him, the more his chest grew tight. 

He could see him. 

Every strand of his beard. The way he twitched his lips every now and then when his sleep was not peaceful. The tenacious light sparkling in his eyes, now rare to be seen, hidden behind slumber and confusion even in the short moments he was awake. Everything in that Dwarf reminded him of Gimli, and according to his father, according to the others who had travelled with him across the sea, that Dwarf  _ was  _ Gimli. 

It would not have been possible for him to doubt it. Gimli had reincarnated, he was reborn. His Fëa incarnated in a new Hröa, and one so similar to the old one.

The old one. The one that still lay underground.

The one that he had buried himself.

How could that be the very same Dwarf, in every aspect? What did  _ reincarnation _ really mean?

Thranduil had assured him that he remembered his past life, that he still behaved the same. And yet! 

He had grown up in a completely different environment than Gimli. Raised by completely different people. Memories he had, but how close was that to first-hand experience? 

Neither Thranduil, nor the other Elves of Lasgalen had ever learned to know and understand Gimli as he had. How could they say it was  _ the same  _ Dwarf? 

He cared for him, of course. He could never not care, he  _ was _ Gimli, he  _ knew _ he was. And yet- was he, really? 

_ “How do you expect me to believe it?” _

_ “Legolas, peace. Reincarnation is-” _

_ “I BURIED HIM!”  _

_ “One doesn’t exclude the other.” _

_ “Adar. Adar. I buried my husband with my own hands, I tend to his tomb to this day, in the way of the Mortal. How am I supposed to accept the idea that the Dwarf you brought here is the same person?” _

_ “You tend to his former Hröa. You know fully well that his Fëa has long abandoned those remains. I am telling you, his Fëa incarnated again. The things he remembers. The way he acts. Legolas, he knows your Name.” _

_ “My name entered many songs after the War of the Ring. How is that supposed to-” _

_ “Your  _ **_Name_ ** _ , Legolas. The Name that Aulë bestowed upon you.” _

_ “Is this- is this true? Adar, truly the Dwarf lying on that bed is Gimli?” _

_ “He was known as Kori, in Erebor. But yes, there is no doubt. Gimli has reincarnated. You may ask any of those who sailed with us, they all will tell you the same thing.” _

_ “They all will tell me that he’s Gimli.” _

_ “Indeed.” _

_ “My husband.” _

_ “I think we shall never forget your wedding celebration, shall we?” _

_ “How? Why?” _

_ “My son, the Valar granted you a great gift.” _

_ “A great gift. Indeed! I witnessed my husband’s death, I buried him decades ago. Not a single day has passed since then without my whole being aching to hear his voice again, to feel his hand in mine, if only for a moment. And now, after more than sixty years, I get the chance to see him die a painful death that will relieve him of dreadful, deliriant suffering. I get the chance to bury him again! What a wondrous gift! What mercy! Surely the Valar have a twisted sense of humour.” _

_ “Now, Legolas. Speak not such words. I have good news, after all.” _

_ “Lord Elrond- forgive me. I did not hear you approach. Good news you say, my Lord?” _

_ “Yes. Apparently, we managed to find the source of the problem. I shall explain to you in detail, but first, he must be moved to a permanent accommodation, where he can be constantly monitored.” _

_ “Home, then. With me. I shall look after him.” _

_ “Very well. In that case, I must instruct you on a few things. Have faith, Legolas. A little fortune, and the Elves of Valinor shall enjoy the company of Lord Gimli once more.” _

Legolas wanted to believe it. He wished, deeply, to rejoice in such an unexpected, unhoped gift. But how could he dare fly so high, when the fall might hurt so much? 

Yes, the risk of him losing his life had been overcome, and it seemed that he would recover rather well. 

But still. How could he choose to believe, to hope that things would be just like they used to, as long as there was the smallest chance that it was all a dreadful mistake, that that Dwarf was Gimli, yes, but another Dwarf as well, someone different, someone that might not love him, or that he might not love, in the end? 

Soft, distressed moans forced him to stop his trail of thoughts. He looked up to find the Dwarf trembling in his sleep, which should not have been a surprise. The sun had long set. 

He reached for the blanket that was rolled up at the end of the bed and placed it over the light (clearly too light) sheet. 

The Dwarf quickly blinked a couple of time before drowsily glancing towards the Elf. He smiled as he closed his eyes again, exhausted, not really awake.

“Legolas,” he whispered quietly, his weak voice filled with the purest fondness, and a moment later sleep took over once more. Oh! Had someone told the Elf that he would hear his own name spoken with such affection again, he would had deemed them a liar. And yet, and yet!

Collapsing back on the armchair, he felt his eyes burning with stinging tears. 

He wanted to believe.

More than anything in the world.

\---

During the following days, the Dwarf spent most of the time in deep sleep, probably aided by the solution Elrond had provided. Legolas would wake him up every few hours or so, give him some honeyed chamomile (probably containing a few drops of the medicine, too) and a bite of Lembas, help him up and to the urinal- much to the Dwarf’s dismay, but his weak protests were useless. Legolas would not leave him unattended even for a single moment, and the medicine kept him constantly sleepy, depriving him of any power to insist. 

He knew not how much time had passed, weeks perhaps, when he woke up to the realization that he was no longer tied. His head hurt considerably less than before, and light did not offend his eyes too much. Still, he needed some time to get accustomed to it, as any other would, and it was through narrowed eyelids that he noticed the blond Elf sitting across the room, apparently reading something.

“Legolas?” he called, but several moments of silence followed. As his vision got clearer, he understood the reason for the lack of response.

“Only now I understand how hard you must have hit your head, Kori.”

“King Thranduil.”

“Good, you do have some wit left, then.”

The Elvenking got closer, as composed as ever, as he explained.

“My son will return in a matter of minutes. In the meantime, tell me, how do you fare?”

“Better, my Lord.”

“I was informed so, yet I found it difficult to believe, despite Lord Elrond’s insistence that you are healing fast. Indeed, I was mistaken in doubting. Truly, you are recovering.”

The Dwarf took a deep breath.

“From what am I recovering, my Lord?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Elf raised an eyebrow and, as the young Dwarf slowly sat up, automatically reached out for a pillow to slip behind his back.

“I remember almost naught of what happened and have never been lucid enough to enquire on the matter,” he summarized, and, “Thank you”, he added as he laid back against the pillow. 

Thranduil nodded despite being considerably surprised. 

“You do not remember what you put me through, Dwarf?”

“Little to nothing, I am afraid, my Lord.”

“Very well. You hit your head, Kori. It was clearly rather serious. Not having any experience in healing wounded mortals, there was little we could do. I could barely buy you some time, cautiously performing basic treatments.”

Thranduil paused as the Dwarf narrowed his eyes, intently looking at him. He was clearly trying to remember something, and after a few moments, he succeeded.

“Did I vomit on your shoes?”

“Twice!” the Elvenking cried out as he suddenly lifted his left hand, two fingers held up to mark his words. He shook his head at the pathetically unsuccessful attempt the other made not to laugh and he proceeded to recount the rest of the story.

“You are fortunate that Lord Elrond has more in common with mortals than he likes to admit, for he knew exactly how to act. He sawed your head open, removed an annoying blood clot that apparently pressed against your brain, and put everything back together. The risk of damaging your head was rather high, and so has been for the past days. Hence, the belts and collar that were keeping you from accidentally hitting that thick skull of yours again, since it was quite fragile, for a change, and you did have convulsions after the incident.” 

The Dwarf blinked nervously and automatically clenched his fingers, as if to make sure they responded. 

“Fret not. You healed surprisingly well, or so I am told, hard to believe as I found it. I suppose you truly have quite a hard skull.”

“That you acknowledged some three centuries ago, Elvenking.”

“And never have you disappointed me since.”

The Dwarf had no time to retort. Swift, soft steps towards the door, and Legolas walked in, worriedly eyeing at the pair as he did.

“Ah, you came back, at last. I feared you had mistaken me for a nursemaid, Legolas,” said the Elvenking as his son quickly approached the bed, plainly ignoring his provocations. 

“Has he woken by himself?”

“Indeed. For whatever purpose do you believe I would have woken him?”

“When?”

Thranduil inhaled deeply. 

“Truly have you mistaken me for a nursemaid, it appears. I am positive that Kori is perfectly capable of answering your questions himself if you ask him. Indeed, do ask him,” said the King before very swiftly turning towards the door and, in a fluttering of silks and hair, heading outside.

_ There is naught left for me to do, at last. You are on your own, Kori. Have a good life. _

“Thank you,” said the Dwarf a moment before the King went out of sight, earning a quick nod from him.

_ Thank you for everything. _

Not all needed to be spoken out loud, in the end.

And so, at last,  _ at last,  _ for the first time in decades he found himself both alone with Legolas  _ and _ clear-headed enough to think straight and have a decent conversation with him.

Mahal, that was terrifying. Never would he have believed, if told, that even for a moment he would wish for slumber or illness to deprive him of his strength, so as not to be confronted with Legolas. Indeed, such a prophet would have brought the wrath of a Son of Durin upon themselves.

And yet!

Legolas was there, staring at him right into his eyes, acknowledging that the Dwarf was indeed quite awake and feeling better. 

“You look well.”

“I am.”

The Elf was as stiff as him. Was he sharing his uncertainties? Had he, as well, missed the Dwarf for so long a time that it seemed to him to be living inside a dream? Could it be that he had already started believing and accepting something that had taken decades to the Dwarf himself to understand? 

“So, Kori, is it, now?”

That was a good question. Had he been asked before, or by someone else, perhaps his answer would have been different. Now, however, it came to him as easy as breathing.

“Gimli. Gimli will do.”

Legolas’ stare was almost too intense for him to bear, but at the same time, he could not have dropped his gaze if he wanted. The Elf sat carefully on the edge of the bed. In the silence of the room, one could have heard the frantic beating of their hearts, so thrilled and yet so frightened- frightened of what, neither of them knew. 

“Is it really you?”

It had been a whisper. Was it that? Was it the answer to that question, that terrified them both so much? 

The Dwarf nodded and a single word, soft and low as any of the other times he had spoken it out loud, left his lips as the Elf leaned closer. 

Something broke in Legolas’s expression. A little tremor to his jaw, his eyes opening wider, his own lips parting to answer in kind, to whisper that Name that a long time before his Husband had taught him, bestowing upon him the greatest honour, the most sacred token of love a Dwarf could give. 

Any fear, uncertainty, awkwardness- it all was gone. They had found each other, as they had been promised, as they had hoped and prayed for, and yet what they had been given was so much more than they would have ever expected. 

Careful not to touch the top of the injured head, Legolas caught Gimli’s lips in his, and for a long, long time, there was nothing else that mattered than their embrace. 

\---

Day after day, Gimli increasingly improved. When he was awake, he spent most of the time recounting to Legolas of his life as Kori. He told him of his childhood, of the day he started dreaming- no, the day he started remembering. The Elf listened in silence, absorbing every word, absent-mindedly caressing the Dwarf’s hands, kissing his palms. 

“It must have been hard to endure. To have so many questions and not a soul to offer answers, so many doubts and not even your own family taking you seriously,” he said one evening, and Gimli shrugged, taking some moments to think about the answer.

“Well. ’T was crap,” he admitted.

“I missed you and knew not how to explain that. Never had I been gladder to see your father.”

“Never had you been anything but annoyed to see my father, Meleth-nín.”

“The sentiment was mutual.”

Legolas laughed softly at that, despite the subject.

“And yet, I come to understand that you get along rather well, now.” 

“Common purposes work wonders.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Kurdûn?”

“Yes?”

“What about you?” 

Legolas smiled, his head tilted to the side. 

“I have always gotten along quite well with my father, as far as I recall.”

“Enough with Thranduil, I was talking about you.”

“Mizimith…”

Only in two cases would Legolas use dwarven terms of endearment: before making love and when he wanted to reassure Gimli. 

“I prayed every day, and now I know that the Valar listened. Can this be enough, for now? I will tell you more of my days here, just not today. Besides, you should rest, now.”

“You should, too. You look tired.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows as he tucked in a most uncooperative Dwarf.

“You know that I have no need to sleep as you do.”

“You need to rest, at least, every so often. This is our bed, but I fear you have not rested here a single time.”

“I did not wish to disturb you. I did rest, I promise, fret not.”

“On the armchair?”

“Indeed.”

“Kurdel, please. Come to bed.”

The Elf made to protest as Gimli kicked off the blanket he had so carefully tucked, but the Dwarf was unremovable. 

“I yield! I yield, meleth, quit torturing our covers,” laughed Legolas, and with a few swift movements he slipped off his boots and tunic. Gimli held his breath at the sight, hardly subtle in his reaction, which caused to Elf to laugh once more, softly. 

“Let any lusty thought flee from your mind, beloved,” he warned as he lay down next to Gimli. “Lord Elrond has made it very clear that such things should wait.”

Silence followed as the Dwarf took in that piece of information. A deep, frustrated groan came from that same Dwarf as he processed the thought.

“Did  _ you _ ask Lord Elrond, or was it him to spontaneously feel the need to instruct you on the matter?”

“Which answer would make you feel less embarrassed?”

“Neither.”

“Then, no point in asking, meleth. Come, Gimli, let me hold you.”

And so, as he nestled against Legolas’ chest, for the first time in his life as Kori, he felt completely, unquestionably at home. Slender fingers finding their way under his beard, the warmth of an arm around his torso, the soft touch of a hand behind his back: it was so familiar and at the same time so overwhelming that the young Dwarf had to force himself not to weep until, finally, he fell asleep. 

\---

It was late into the night when he woke up with a start. Sleep was not always peaceful now that he had stopped taking Elrond’s medicine. Rather often would sharp and sudden pain or troubled dreams wake him. And just like many other times, Legolas was gone. 

It had started when Gimli had begun to feel better, when there was no need for Legolas to constantly be looking after him anymore. The Elf would spend all day by his side, regardless, but most of the times the Dwarf woke up at night he would realize he was alone in the house. 

Gimli sat up, the usual annoying feeling scratching at the back of his head. He could not understand the reason for such behaviour, and that was what troubled him. Why would Legolas leave in the middle of the night? Where did he go and why he would never mention anything about it? 

There could not be “someone else”. It was not the way of the Elves, far from their nature, and besides, Gimli had no doubt of Legolas’ love for him.

Well. 

For Gimli.

Could it be, he wondered, that the Elf was not convinced? Perhaps Legolas could not entirely believe- and how to blame him, if that were the case? How to blame him for not believing that his husband, deceased decades before and still buried somewhere on that very Island, had sailed across the Sea to get back to him? How to find him at fault if he wished to spend some time away from that young Dwarf, if perhaps he believed in the end Kori and Gimli to be two and not one, if he felt that being with the one would mean unloyalty to the other? 

And yet the sole idea that Legolas might not trust him, might not love him, now that they were finally reunited, made his very heart sink. 

He tried to shake the idea away. Surely he was mistaken. Legolas simply needed time, and it was nothing but fair that he took some to adjust to something that the Dwarf himself had needed decades to elaborate. 

The faintest light slowly made its way into the room. Sunrise was near, but Gimli barely had time to wonder how long he had been overthinking when the sound of light steps approaching announced that Legolas had returned. For some reason, the Dwarf slipped back under the covers, eyes closed. He was not ready to discuss it, not yet.

\---

Legolas carefully peeked inside the barely lit room. Gimli appeared to be fast asleep, curled under the covers, like he had left him a few hours before. 

The Elf smiled helplessly as he walked to the bed and took off his tunic, eyes fixated on the sturdy, stout Dwarf that was now sleeping like a kitten. He did feel guilty for leaving him, night after night. He would have stayed by his side, watching over his sleep, holding him close, but  _ that thing  _ had to be finished. He wanted it to be ready in time. 

The mattress barely moved as Legolas lay on it- as usual. He slipped under the sheets and rolled over, holding Gimli against his chest and preparing to enjoy a few moments of rest, but he suddenly went rigid. 

He moved a little back, frowning as he carefully looked at his husband’s face. With fingers as soft as a feather he caressed Gimli’s cheeks: wet, as he had believed. He immediately checked his forehead, but he found it cool and dry, and for a moment he felt reassured to know that he had not been sweating due to sudden fever. Yet, it lasted no longer than that moment: for if he was not sweating, then it meant he had been weeping, and Legolas frantically tried to understand the reason. 

“Gimli? Are you awake?” he whispered, but no answer came. No, surely the Dwarf was in deep sleep- had he had a nightmare, perhaps? That had to be it. Troubled dreams- it was no surprise, after all he had been through. Legolas held him closer, placed a firm kiss on the top of his head, far from the scarring wound, and:

“You stand not alone,” he whispered.

“Not anymore. Never again.” 

When they rose from the bed, the sun was high. 

\---

“Gimli, will you sit down and be calm?”

“How can I? She will be here soon, and this house is a disaster!”

“I have spent the entire morning tidying it up; thank you for appreciating my effort. Give me that!”

Legolas took the chair that Gimli was carrying, gaining a snort from the Dwarf.

“Where did you think to take this to?”

“Away from here, and the others, too. Much too plain, we must welcome the Lady with something more proper.”

“These are the chairs we have, Meleth, and they shall suffice, believe me,” Legolas insisted with his last ounce of patience, putting the chair back. But Gimli was stubborn, so very stubborn.

“Perhaps I have some time to decorate them, at least. Do we have any vines, or- if I work fast, a chisel…”

Too much. That was too much. Legolas turned to his husband and gave him a look which, for a change, made the Dwarf shut up at once.

“A week ago, you were hardly able to rise from your bed. And now you want to engage in wood carving?”

“But the vines at least-”

“It is not about chisel or vines, Gimli. You have been fussing around since this morning, curse the moment I told you that the Lady would come to see you. I should have left you oblivious until her arrival.”

“Don’t you ever even think about doing such a thing!”

“Then prove me that it was no mistake and sit down. You should  _ not _ exert yourself.”

“Just for today,” Gimli insisted, stomping back towards the chair. “The Lady deserves the best we can offer.”

“Gimli.”

Legolas’ tone was suddenly so calm and flat that the Dwarf turned to him, half surprised, half worried.

“Yes?”

“Do touch that chair, or any of our furniture unless it is your armchair and unless you’re touching it with your buttocks, and I will go meet her and tell her not to come at all today.” 

The Dwarf fell silent. Was Legolas bluffing? He sounded tremendously serious- but surely Lady Galadriel would not take orders from him. 

“Why should she do as you bid her?” he retorted, trying to sound more confident than he was.

“Until now, she always listened to me when I asked her not to come.”

“…”

“You heard me.”

“You are jesting. You must be.”

“By no means. Since your arrival, she asked many times to see you, but I knew how it would agitate you. Given the fact that we both care for your health, apparently more than you do, she understood my worry every single time. Now that Lord Elrond allowed you to leave the bed, I believed you could at last meet her, therefore granting permission. But if I were to tell her that I was mistaken, that you are not ready yet, she would listen to me, indeed.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ …”

“Then sit down and rest while I prepare some cakes.” 

Several moments of silence followed. In the end, huffing greatly and with heavy steps, Gimli marched to his armchair and sat down without a word, his jaw set as a stone, frowning so hard that his eyebrows were almost touching each other. 

Legolas, on his part, was barely holding back from bursting out in laughter at the sight of such a childish pouting. His shoulders shaking with ill-concealed mirth, he fled to the kitchen. 

“I’ve missed you so,  _ meleth-nín _ ,” he managed despite the stifled giggling. And that, to tell the truth, did lift Gimli’s mood considerably. 

\---

“Gimli, are you well?” asked Legolas, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Indeed. Why do you ask?”

“You are quiet this evening, but your enthusiasm could hardly be contained just this morning. Perhaps it truly was too early for visits. Are you tired?”

The Dwarf firmly shook his head.

“Not at all. I feel well, I assure you.”

“What vexes you, then, if exhaustion is not at fault?”

Gimli opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before shaking his head and shrugging.

“I know not. I was thinking about the Lady’s Gift and… something bugs me, but I think I need to sleep on it.”

“Galadriel’s Gift is to blame for your troubled mind?”

_ “My Lady…” _

_ “Three strands of my hair I gifted you upon our parting, Elvellon. To your death you cherished my gift and to your death my gift followed you, within the warm embrace of the earth. Accept that same gift once more, as a sign of friendship amongst our people, as a due tribute to a valiant hero, and last but not the least, as my most heartfelt welcome back.” _

_ “Your grace and kindness are greater than any, my Lady. I accept your gift with heart full of gratitude and the same promise I once made, to cherish it as the most valued treasure.” _

“And here I was, thinking that she had once more earned your everlasting adoration.”

“I did appreciate her gesture, greatly.”

“Yes, that I could see, which is why I am even more surprised.”

“I could have never dared asking for such a blessing again, and I shall indeed treasure and cherish her gift like I did the first time.”

“But?”

“As I said, I know not. There is a ‘but’, yes. I just need to figure out what exactly it is.”

Legolas nodded and, rising from his chair, he walked to Gimli and reached his hands as if to prompt him to rise as well.

“Then perhaps it really is a good idea to sleep on it. Come to bed.”

“Very well,” agreed the Dwarf, but as soon as they entered the bedroom, he cleared his voice.

“Le-Legolas.”

He stuttered, and the Elf stopped short. 

“I was thinking- speaking of hair.”

“Yes?”

“Would you let me braid yours?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, lower, as if he feared to be heard.

“I feel well and hale, I shall make no mistakes, and I remember the pattern. Let me, please, let me braid your hair. And if you would, if it feels right, perhaps you might braid mine?” he added almost in a single breath. But Legolas took his flushed face between his hands and gave him his warmest smile. 

“With pleasure.” 

And Gimli smiled back. Aware of the intimacy of hair-braiding, aware of what it meant to braid another’s hair and have them braid yours, anticipating the feel of Legolas’ silky hair slipping between his stout yet able fingers, and that of the long, elegant, delicate, swift, tantalizing elven fingers moving through his red curls, he simply smiled back. 

Legolas opened the drawer, his fingers lingering only a moment too long on the comb before handing it to Gimli. Then, barefoot, the Elf sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed. 

The Dwarf kneeled behind him, as he had done many times in his dreams, in his memory, and for a moment he marvelled at the soft, thin, golden strands that covered Legolas’ shoulders. He started combing- as always, the elven hair hardly had any knot, but it was part of the process. He tidied the strands, parted the hair in sections, then put the comb aside and started running his bare fingers through each section, and he could  _ swear,  _ Legolas by then was purring. 

He started combing the hair on the sides of Legolas’ head, caressing his ears with each stroke- not entirely by chance. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” whispered Legolas blissfully. A long series of soft moans followed as Gimli started braiding, careful not to neglect the sensitive ears, brushing both with his fingers, caressing the tips, tickling with a soft touch of his thumb along the outline of the shell. 

“Yes!”

Legolas would yell, and, 

“Mhhh”,

he would mutter. 

“ _ Elbereth _ …”

he would almost chant, and,

“Again- more-”

he would plead. 

It was like playing an instrument after many long years. With every touch he rediscovered what he had already learnt, remembering what to do as he did it, a sort of muscle memory. 

And Legolas was, indeed, sweeter than any flute or mandolin. His moans and whispers were making Gimli’s mouth dry, his whole body aching to hold the other, feel him skin against skin, kiss him and please him to drive even more of those sweet sounds out of him- 

and Legolas was probably not even thinking about it.

To Dwarves, hair-combing and hair-braiding were practices for family and lovers, yes, but the Elves were on a completely different level. Combing and braiding had a degree of intimacy perhaps even higher than lovemaking, and the pleasure that such practices brought, both physical and of the soul, was something parallel to sexual pleasure: similar, but never meant to meet it. Gimli had learned to respect it, but it had been difficult for him to understand. And his own body, now so young and craving for long-denied pleasures, had no intention of being reasonable, protesting from under his breeches with every moan. 

And so, once he had finished braiding Legolas’ hair and the Elf started turning to face him, the Dwarf could only turn his back as swiftly as possible to conceal the revealing bulge. 

Legolas took it for eagerness to be braided in return, and set to work immediately, skipping the comb and using his fingers straight away to separate the red curls. He took his time, starting at the ends and moving up to the head, taking care of each lock and massaging the scalp as he did. When each and every knot was gone, he affectionately caressed a patch of short hair on the front side of Gimli’s head, where Lord Elrond had shaved him before cutting, several weeks before. 

“Do you believe that some braiding might hide it?” the Dwarf asked, tentatively. His kin took great pride in hair and beard, and shaving was unthinkable for Durin’s folk. Even there, among Elves, and despite it having been a necessity, he could not help but feel uneasy. 

“Perhaps, if I braid some of the long strands with the beard… turn around, let me try.”

Gimli cursed himself for his mistake. He turned around, hoping that the tunic was enough to cover his erection, but of course Legolas did not fail to notice it.

He smiled as he started braiding, half amused, half mischievous- which really was not helpful in order to lower Gimli’s desire. 

“How very reactive,  _ Gimli-nín _ ,” he teased after a while, still not losing his focus on the hair. Satisfied with the braid, which actually did conceal most of the shaved patch, he started working on a mirroring one on the other side. 

“You are as eager as I was when-”

Legolas stopped suddenly. 

“Tell me again,  _ meleth,  _ how old are you?”

“That would be difficult to say.”

“Of course. I mean, as Kori. You said that you had come of age last year?”

“Indeed. I am an adult, if that is what concerns you.”

“I was merely wondering, given your young age… have you ever had anyone in your bed?”

“Of course I have. You should know since you were there almost every time, with very few exceptions before we met.”

“Once again, love, I mean as Kori.”

The Dwarf straightened his back, frowning. 

“Absolutely not! I am your husband. Do you believe that I could ever do you wrong? I could not have eyes for any other.”

“Peace,  _ meleth _ , peace. You were not fully aware of any of that until last autumn, and occasional intercourse is not uncommon for your kin. I would not hold it against you if you had-”

“I had not. I… it did not feel right to get intimate with any other. You were always in my mind, even before I knew the truth.”

Legolas secured the second braid and smiled, touched by his words and at the same time aware of how difficult it must have been for Gimli, how confusing.

“Then you are a virgin,” he stated, and the Dwarf firmly shook his head.

“Am not. I am still me, and I remember the many times you and I were joined, from the first, tentative approaches to lovemaking to the most foolish of our games in the most inappropriate times and places.”

“You remember.”

“Vividly.”

“And yet this body of yours is oblivious to the touch of another and, it seems to me, is eager to learn.”

Gimli opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Legolas did have a point, after all. 

“And this time it seems that I get to be the teacher. How the tables turn!”

The Elf had spoken in a low, soft voice, his lips twitching in a smile that could only be described as  _ naughty _ . Gimli swallowed hard. 

Legolas had always regretted the difference in their knowledge of the matters of the bed at the beginning of their relationship. He had caught up rather quickly, and had never begrudged Gimli his customs, nor had he found his attentive cares and teaching displeasing, far from that. 

Yet, he had always felt rather disappointed at the idea that he could never give Gimli what Gimli had given him.

But now…

“If you wish, I shall give you pleasure in every way. We shall take our time, I shall let you explore, lead you and take care of you,” he said, leaning in to speak next to Gimli’s ear.

“I shall awaken every inch of your skin, _ meleth _ , have your body exploding with pleasure, then hold you to me until it finds peace again. Would you like that, Mizimith?”

“Please,” was all Gimli could manage to say, completely lost in Legolas’ words, the touch of his hand on the thigh burning like fire. 

“Mhm. A shame that it will have to wait.”

“Legolas!”

Gimli let out his name with a frustrated groan, but the Elf gave him no time to protest further. 

“Forgive me, I should not have teased you so. I was almost forgetting, but- Lord Elrond insists that it is not advisable yet, and it has already been a taxing day. When you are fully recovered, we shall take our time and make it worth the wait.”

Despite his words, Legolas’ hand moved up from Gimli’s thigh, sneaking behind the tunic and teasing his erection through the fabric of the breeches, causing the Dwarf to squeal. 

“However, I would not leave you so unattended while you need me so. But all else will have to wait. Agreed?”

“A-agreed. Ple- ah, please,” stuttered Gimli, his face flushed, but before he could finish his sentence Legolas had already started unfastening his trousers to free his erection. The Dwarf nearly lost his balance when the Elf took him in his hand, and grabbed his shoulders to hold onto him, at which Legolas slowed down. He took the two pillows and placed them against the bedpost, one over the other, to support Gimli’s back as he made him lie down. Then he set to kiss him, his lips, his neck, slow despite the Dwarf’s needy haste. 

He wanted him to have at least the time to enjoy it, and when, finally, he took him in his hand again, Gimli tensed. He could not help but moving his hips in accordance to Legolas’ pace, pressing his back further against the pillows with every thrust- until the Elf started worrying that said pillows might not be enough to prevent him from hitting his head on the wooden headboard. 

“Gimli.  _ Meleth, melethron _ , slow down. Peace. Come here,” he prompted, making the Dwarf lie with his side against Legolas’ chest, his back on Legolas’ legs, as he held him by his shoulders with his left arm. That way allowed him to have much more control of Gimli’s movements, and there was no risk that he might hit his head anywhere. Once again, he took the Dwarf in his hand, lips pressed against the reddish, newly braided hair, and as he whispered Sindarin words of eternal love, he took Gimli to an earth-shattering orgasm. Squirming and twitching in his lap, the Dwarf helplessly stuttered. 

“Kurdulel, yes, Mizimith, Mizimith! I- ah! Ngh- love- you- ah! Ah!” 

The taste of Legolas’ lips was all he could focus on during the aftershock.

It was a good thing that they had agreed on waiting a bit longer to go any further, for after Legolas declined Gimli’s offer to reciprocate, the Dwarf was taken over by exhaustion so swiftly that he fell asleep still in his husband’s arms, his breeches stained with seed and his soft prick at the mercy of the night’s cool air. 

He woke up in the middle of the night, well tucked-in under the covers, his trousers clean and hung to dry. 

Legolas was nowhere to be found.

\---

“It has been a fortnight, and yet you are still troubled by that gift.”

Legolas had entered the room to find Gimli fiddling with the lock of golden hair, again. 

“Yes. I just… I know not what to do with it,” the Dwarf tried to explain, with poor results, given the surprised expression on Legolas’ face.

“I do not mean to say that I find it not useful. It does not have to be, of course. I mean… last time, I set it in crystal, to preserve it eternally and highlight its beauty. But now…”

“Is it that, that bothers you so?”

“Well, not really. I mean… yes, that must be it.” 

“Could it be,” started Legolas, walking closer to him and placing his hands on Gimli’s shoulders. “Could it be, perhaps, that it is the idea that you could not set it in crystal, or turn it into a jewel, or turn anything into a jewel, that bothers you?”

He enquired, as kindly as he could. The Dwarf carefully put the strands of hair back in the wooden box where he kept them, but he did not answer.

“Walk with me a moment,  _ meleth _ . Let us talk about it.”

“There is not much to talk about, believe me,” said the Dwarf as he followed Legolas outside. 

“There are some things I need to adjust to, but it shall not be troublesome.”

“Is it not troublesome for a Dwarf to give up crafting?”

“I was well aware of what was waiting for me here. I would have happily given up everything to be with you.”

“You  _ would have?  _ You  _ have, meleth-nín. _ Your friends and family, your kin, your work, your home, your crafting. Everything you had, you left it behind.”

“You are my family, and my best friend. And many on this Island I can happily call my friends.”

“That is true,” agreed Legolas with a smile. Not only the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, and Gandalf: many Elves had become fond of him, both at the time of his first sojourn and during his second journey.

“As for crafting, there is much I can do here. Woodcarving, for instance. Our chairs are still too plain.”

“Even if the idea of our entire furniture being inlaid is tempting, I seem to recall that wood is not your preferred material for the skill of your hands.”

“You are my preferred material for the skill of my hands, Kurdûn,” retorted Gimli with a playful smile.

“Stone and metal, I can do without, as long as I am with you. Legolas, where are we going?”

Only at that point did the Dwarf notice that they had detoured from the usual path. He had, however, the sudden feel that they were not just wandering. 

“Oh, there is something I wish to show you. We are almost there, just behind the hill.”

The Dwarf frowned, confused. There was nothing behind that hill but a clearing and a stream. Legolas used to go there for archery training, since it was conveniently close to their home. 

Much to his surprise, as they reached the top of the sweet hill, the roof of a building came into his vision.

“Does someone live here, now? If you wanted to introduce me to our neighbours, you could have warned me… I would have brought something.”

“Nothing of the sort, my dear. Your good manners are well-known, I would never put such a reputation at risk,” answered the Elf as they approached the door.

“No, Gimli, this place is yours.”

The Dwarf froze.

He turned to Legolas, eyes wide, lips parted in a silent “oh”. 

Did Legolas not wish to share a home with him anymore, then? Despite all their words of love, did he still have doubts? 

It was true that he would often disappear at night, and Gimli had been thinking of speaking to him about that matter, but- to want him out of their home? Had he been so mistaken, to believe that Legolas returned his love, that there was no room for doubt?

“What are you waiting for? Have a look inside!”

Prompted the Elf. He sounded so  _ excited _ that the Dwarf could only comply, opening the door with a heavy heart. 

And then he spent many moments standing on the doorstep, his eyes taking in the unexpected, his lips parted in an “Oh” even wider than before. 

“Well? Do you not wish to enter?”

Gimli, still speechless, walked inside. A large, sturdy wooden table was in the middle of the building. A smaller, thin and long table was leaning against the wall on the left, and hung on that same wall there were many different tools: pliers, hammers, saws, cutters, hatchets, metal wires, abrasives, chisels, and much more, all in different sizes. Against the wall at the back were leaning larger tools, anvils, heavier hammers, as well as many shelves and a third table, made from a plate of stone. And on the right side of the building, two forges, looking brand new and ready to be put at work. 

“It’s a smithy,” gimli managed after many minutes spent gaping at the place.

“How- since when there is a smithy in Valinor?”

“Not long. We finished everything just this morning at sunrise.”

Gimli finally snapped back to reality and turned to Legolas, slowly understanding what was going on.

“You have built a smithy. In a matter of weeks. For me.”

“Not by myself, of course. Many were happy to help. As you said, you do have friends, here.”

Legolas was now smiling openly. He had been filled with anticipation for days, knowing that the project was nearly finished, and now, at last, Gimli’s surprise was as heart-warming as he had hoped. 

“I- I fail to understand,” whispered Gimli, walking around to look at the variety of tools. 

“When did you have the time? You were always with me, I would have noticed- oh!”

“Oh?”

“ _ This  _ is why you would leave at night!”

Legolas fell silent for a moment, approaching him.

“You noticed?”

“Indeed. I believed that you needed some time alone, or anything of the sort. To adjust, to… I knew not.”

“Oh,  _ meleth _ . Forgive me, I was convinced that your sleep was sounder.”

Gimli shook his head, as to mean that it was no serious issue.

“It was, as long as I kept drinking that medicine of Elrond’s. Now I do wake up sometimes, at night, but as I said, I believed you needed time. And here you were, building a  _ smithy _ . I do not know how to thank you, believe me. How did the idea come to your mind, when even I would have never dared to think of such a project?”

Legolas bent over to place a soft kiss on his head before answering the question.

“Well, my father recounted me of the objections that Master… Turi, if I remember well, raised on the subject of your departure,” he said, tentatively. 

Thranduil had given him every detail of the story on Legolas’ insisting request, but Gimli had never spoken much of his grandfather. It was not difficult to guess that it was a sore spot.

“Ah.”

“And- it is true that when you first came here, you were in your last, beautiful years, and all you needed was rest and good company, unlike now.”

“I told you, Legolas, all I need is you. Where you are, I am content.”

“I do not doubt you, for I feel the same. But you are young, and we shall spend many long decades, centuries, here together. I cannot expect you to spend your days lying on the bed, getting bored.”

“Well,” retorted Gimli, raising an eyebrow, “that would depend. I could happily spend my days in bed if you were there, too. I am convinced I would never get bored.”

“Oh, that is a good point, indeed,” answered Legolas, playing along. “So that is how it is? I build a smithy for you, and you are willing to let me in your bed?”

“Indeed. The least I can do, right?” Legolas leaned down to kiss him briefly, then nuzzled at his neck, giggling softly. “I should worry, then, given the number of people who lent a helping hand in this project. Shall we get a larger bed, or would you like us to take turns?”

Joining his mirthful laughter, Gimli shook his head, tapping his husband on the arm in playful reprimand. 

“I shall stick with the foreman, thank you,” he said, kissing Legolas in turn, then: 

“Thank you,” he repeated, with a much deeper meaning.

“I am happy if you are,  _ meleth _ . Say, would you like to put some of this to the test?”

“Now?” 

Gimli considered, looking around.

“Well, I guess I could try to light the furnaces, but…”

“Mh. I believe you should check the table.”

“You think so?”

The Dwarf reached the large, stout-looking wooden table. It was the perfect height for him to work, and it looked well-built, smooth, and straight.

“Indeed. We should make sure that it will not collapse while you’re working on it.”

“I really don’t think it will happen; it looks solid,” said Gimli, not quite grasping Legolas’ innuendos until the Elf plainly raised him by his hips and sat him on the edge of the table, burying his face in his shoulder a moment later, lips on his neck, barely taking the time to move the hair out of his way.

“ _ Oh, _ ” cried out the Dwarf, finally understanding what Legolas was getting at. “Yes, by all means- let us put the table to the test. Thoroughly.”

A minute later Gimli’s boots and lower garments were on the floor, his tunic was open, and Legolas’s tongue was playing shamelessly with the piercing on the Dwarf’s right nipple.

“Legolas… you shall be the death of me if you tease me so. Ah!”

The Elf raised his head, complying as Gimli reached out for a kiss, and the Dwarf was convinced it was no coincidence that, in doing so, his husband had trapped his erection between their bodies, causing him to twitch with desire at his every movement.

Then the Elf was on his knees, and Gimli could barely hear his instructions as he craved for his touch. 

“Put your legs on my shoulders,” he ordered, and so Gimli did. Then, Legolas grasped each of the Dwarf’s thighs to support himself and stuck out his tongue. 

“Oh my,” moaned Gimli at the sight.

“I have not even touched you yet,” observed the Elf, before finally starting to lick at the shaft with dedication, sucking the tip from time to time.

From Gimli came strings of nonsense muttering, Khuzdul terms of endearment and curses, and a lot of words that should better not be repeated. He was bubbling with pleasure, incapable of deciding where to keep his hands- now on the table behind him, now gripping at the rim, now on Legolas’ head. The latter seemed to be his final decision, fingers teasing at his ears- where he found the lucidity for that, not even he knew, for Legolas’ tongue was making his mind blank. When at last the Elf took his full length in his mouth, Gimli cried out his name, and moaned, and cursed. 

“Legolas, Legolas, Legolas! Yes! Mahal fuck me.” 

“He’d like to,” was Legolas’ quick response, or at least, that was what it was meant to be. It sounded closer to ‘dh’aik thu’, but Gimli did get it, and chuckled briefly despite the situation. 

And so, on the table in his own new smithy in Valinor, Gimli came inside the mouth of his husband, muttering his name again and again, the first of many, many times. 

“Legolas… you,” he managed, trying to reach for the Elf’s breeches as they were both standing on the ground again. 

“Peace. Wait. Let us go home, _ meleth,  _ if you will. Let me love you long and good, as I promised. Yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Gimli. “I love you. I shall forever be yours.”

And now, now they both knew that, finally, even if Gimli was a Dwarf, even if he was supposedly a mortal, he could promise him “forever,” and it was no overstatement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't skip this!
> 
> Alright, first of all, thank you, thank you all. For sticking with me chapter after chapter, thank you to those who patiently waited for this last chapter, thank you for those who have found the fic once completed and decided that it was worth reding. 
> 
> A special, huge THANK YOU goes to [Roselightfairy ](/users/Roselightfairy/) who not only was so kind as to be my beta for this last chapter, but also helped me to figure out how to get it written down when it was mostly a mess in my head. I can’t even start to say how grateful I am! 
> 
> I apologize so much to you all for keeping you waiting. I never meant to drop the fic, I was busy with my exams for a couple of weeks, then all this pandemic mess happened and on top of that, it was harder than I thought to sort out the chapter. I'm so very sorry.
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think, if you want! 
> 
> It's the first time that I get such a project done and it was an amazing adventure. I can't wait to go on a new one! 
> 
> (One last thing, I will probably upload a little follow-up as a separate OS. If you want to know what Legolas has in store for Gimli, and you're into PWP, stay tuned! )


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